Once Upon a Time
by MissAppropriation
Summary: Clara has an unexpected visitor at Coal Hill School in the form of one Inspector Masters. Characters: Clara, the Master (Simm). Ship! COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: Monday Morning

So... Funny story. I started this with absolutely no intention of it being a relationship fic. But these two kind of did their own thing and I kind of ended up completely loving them together.

Literally the first ship fic I have ever written! Rated T just because the Master has done some bad stuff and there's a fairly heavy conversation about that eventually.

Will be posting a chapter or two a day, ending next Tuesday. Enjoy. :)

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**Once Upon a Time**

_Chapter 1: Monday Morning_

Clara juggled a half-full coffee cup and a pile of marking as she made her way through the halls of Coal Hill School on Monday morning.

She was early for work but had some catching up to do to prepare for the week.

Clara made it to her classroom and was setting her things down when she heard a knock on the door. She looked up to see the headteacher standing in her doorway with another man behind him.

"Good morning, Miss Oswald, I just wanted to introduce our guest to you," Mr. Armitage said.

The strange man stepped forward, smiling enthusiastically. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Oswald. I've heard so much about you."

Clara took the man's eagerly outstretched hand, shaking it politely. She hated when people said that... Did they not know how creepy it was to tell someone that? But she kept her opinions to herself.

"Oh, good things I hope," she said obligatorily.

There were a limited number of options when responding to that specific introduction... Something she suspected most people who used that line _knew_. It was a verbal power play, a way to control the conversation.

People who said that were generally trying to throw you off.

This visitor seemed to be no exception.

She looked the man up and down, eyeing his stylish dark suit. High-end, designer probably. "You a new teacher then?" she asked dubiously.

"Not quite," he smirked.

"This is Lead Inspector Masters from Ofsted," Mr. Armitage informed her.

"A school inspection..." Clara asked, frowning slightly. Her eyes traveled back to the man. He was handsome in an unconventional way and wore a goatee and eyeliner, like a pantomime villain. He certainly didn't look like the school inspector they'd had last time... "Didn't we just have one of those?"

The Inspector took it upon himself to answer her question. "You did, in fact. Back in... April, I believe?"

Clara nodded. Inspections were stressful. She remembered it well.

"Coal Hill School was judged Outstanding, I understand," the stranger continued. "That's actually why I'm here."

"Inspector Masters will be joining us for a few days to do a survey of Coal Hill," Mr. Armitage said proudly.

"And what will you be looking for, exactly, Inspector?" Clara asked pointedly.

"I want to see what sets your school apart from the others," the Inspector told her. He was staring at her, watching her. "Your headteacher seems to think you might have something to say about that."

"Miss Oswald is one of our very finest teachers," Mr. Armitage assured him.

"He's exaggerating," Clara hastened to interject. "I'm just a normal English teacher."

The Inspector raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Oh, I very much doubt that."

Clara frowned.

"Please be available to answer any questions the Inspector might have, would you, Miss Oswald?" the headteacher requested.

"Yeah, my pleasure," Clara answered, distracted.

The Inspector was looking at her with a strange expression in his brown eyes. Like he knew a secret about her...

It was unsettling.

She wasn't sure she liked this Inspector Masters.


	2. Chapter 2: Monday Evening

_Chapter 2: Monday Evening_

Clara had had a largely uneventful school day. She had steeled herself for some sort of a sitdown with the strange Lead Inspector but the day wore on and that moment never arrived.

She had seen him summoning various other teachers for private conversations. Clara wondered what kinds of questions he was asking.

She tried to get some information from Tom, one of the more gossipy teachers... But he was aggravatingly nonspecific. They had talked about "the school," apparently. When Clara pressed him for more information, he shut down about the topic completely.

Clara found this intensely irritating. She wondered what Inspector Masters could have said to shut up one of the school's most notorious busybodies.

And when she had checked with Mr. Armitage about how long the inspection would last, he seemed unsure. Clara left her classroom dissatisfied with the day's attempts at fact-finding. She had many questions and not one single answer.

Clara ran into the Inspector on her way out to the car park.

He was in one of the hallways. The walls of this particular corridor were lined with framed photographs detailing the history of Coal Hill School.

The Inspector was peering intently at one of them in particular, a nostalgic smile on his face.

Clara nearly walked on past but then changed her mind and turned back, curious.

"Someone you know?" Clara asked.

The Inspector seemed to notice her for the first time. "Uh, yeah. I had family who went here for a little while. A long time ago..."

Clara stepped closer to look at the black and white photo. It was of a group of teenage girls. The date underneath read 1963.

There was actually a face in that photo which Clara recognized herself. She, or rather a splinter version of her, had worked at Coal Hill School back in the early Sixties.

It wasn't exactly a coincidence that Clara had found a teaching job at the same school which the Doctor's granddaughter had attended for five months...

She smiled. It was nice being in a place where there were reminders of the Doctor.

However, that had nothing to do with Inspector Masters.

Clara looked back at the Inspector, trying to estimate his age. Maybe forties? It was weirdly difficult to tell.

"Your... Mother?" she hazarded a guess.

He turned to her, shocked. "What?" Then he shook his head, catching up. "Oh, yeah... Yeah, that would make sense."

_Weird._

Clara liked weird.

But it often meant trouble.

But then, Clara also sort of liked trouble...

She noticed he was wearing his suit trousers tucked into combat boots. That was an odd style choice. Eyeliner and combat boots... She saw teenagers around the school who dressed like that. The social outcasts, the rebels. Trying to stand out, trying to find their place in the world.

_What was this man's story?_ Clara wondered.

"On your way home then?" she tried.

He took a deep breath, tearing himself away from the photo. "Soon. I have a couple more things to take care of here. You?" His tone was friendly, familiar.

"Yeah, got some papers to mark before tomorrow. No rest for the wicked," she joked.

He gave her an cryptic look. "You know, they say that, but... It's actually far more work being good. You never seem to catch up."

Clara thought about the Doctor... About her time in the TARDIS. "I guess that's true, actually," she had to agree. "See you in the morning then, Inspector."

"I expect so, yeah," he said vaguely, looking back at the photo again. "Good night, Miss Oswald. Get home safe."

Clara shook her head. It was such a strange thing to say to someone you had just met. And he said it like he _meant_ it. But so casually.

Like they'd known each other for years.

"Yeah. You too..." Clara said, not quite sure how to respond.

The Inspector flashed her a charming smile and strolled off down the hall. Hands in his pockets, clearly in no rush.

Clara watched him go.

There was something _odd_ about this Inspector Masters, something she recognized, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it...

Clara felt like she was missing something very obvious.


	3. Chapter 3: Tuesday Morning

Chapter 3: Tuesday Morning

Clara headed to the Staff Room first thing the next morning.

Coffee.

She needed coffee.

She hadn't slept well the night before. Her brain had refused to slow down long enough for her to get any real rest.

She wasn't honestly sure what puzzle she was even trying to solve... Which just made the whole thing even more frustrating.

Something to do with the Inspector...

But she didn't even know where to start.

When she got to the coffee machine she saw that Inspector Masters was already there. Because of course he was.

He was holding up one of the pods for the single-brew coffee machine, frowning at it judgmentally.

"Morning," Clara said, more as a way of announcing her presence than as an actual greeting.

The Inspector looked up, and responded far too happily for Clara's current mood. "Miss Oswald, good morning!"

"You're here early," Clara observed, wishing he wasn't here.

He spread his arms in a gesture of feigned helplessness. "Work of an Inspector, never done."

"Sounds exciting," Clara said, somewhat sarcastically.

He shrugged mysteriously. "It can be."

Clara didn't have the patience to decode this stranger at the moment. She pointed to the coffee machine. "You going to use that?"

The Inspector eyed the machine disapprovingly. He placed the pod down on the counter gingerly, as if it might bite him, or explode. "Ah... No."

"Mind if I do, then?" Clara said when he didn't move.

"Your funeral..." the Inspector grimaced, stepping to the side.

Clara started her cup of coffee, then turned to the Inspector. "You got something against coffee?" she queried, raising an eyebrow. People who didn't like coffee were not trustworthy in Clara's experience.

The Inspector looked up from the file he was leafing through. "No, not at all. I happen to like coffee very much, actually." He pointed to the pod machine. "That is not coffee."

"Oh..." One of the pieces finally fell into place for Clara. She smiled. "You're a snob. You're one of those coffee snobs, aren't you?"

He smirked, not bothered by her characterization in the least. "I just have standards, that's all."

"That's what the snobs always say," Clara told him, watching her coffee brew.

"Maybe, but... Doesn't mean I'm wrong," the Inspector responded.

Clara took her finished beverage and held it up, eyeing the Inspector over it. "As long as it does the job, that's all I care about right now."

He stopped what he was doing, folding his arms and adopting a lecturing tone. "Coffee is about more than just caffeine." He cocked his head at her. "Are you not sleeping well?"

She found his analytical gaze disquieting. "That's sort of an intrusive question."

"Just making conversation." His tone was light but his face was serious. "Everything alright?"

Clara avoided his eyes, looking down at her coffee. He couldn't honestly expect an answer to that, right? "I just... Have a lot on my mind these days," Clara said.

"Hmm. Anything I could help with?" Clara looked up and frowned. The question was oddly sincere. In the moment Clara had no doubt that he meant it.

"I don't see how," Clara replied dubiously. His eyes were searching, concerned. It reminded her of someone... She found the familiarity comforting even though she couldn't place it. "It's been... A rough year," Clara said, her eyes falling again as she thought of Danny, thought of the Doctor... Thought about loss and bad decisions and do-overs. "Guess it's just catching up with me." She shook herself, looking up again, eyes a bit shinier than before. "I should get to work."

"Right," the Inspector nodded, suddenly all business again. He started gathering up his files. "See you around then. Enjoy... Whatever that is." He gestured dismissively towards her mug.

"Coffee," she reminded him helpfully.

"If you say so," he winked.

Clara spent the next couple of hours trying to make sense of this interaction. Her efforts were fruitless.

Clara decided she needed more information...

It's what the Doctor would do.


	4. Chapter 4: Tuesday Evening

_Chapter 4: Tuesday Evening_

Clara waited until the school day was over. She stayed in her classroom, saying goodnight to anyone who passed by. She told them she was finishing up a few things. It was an easy lie. None of them asked any questions... They all just wanted to go home.

People always believed what they wanted. The trick was just finding the story they wanted to hear.

Clara's talent for lying had gotten her into trouble in the past... She should have stopped but she was just so _good_ at it. And she was clever enough to get out of most of the consequences which had come her way...

Most of them.

She had sabotaged herself in the end.

She'd been _too good_ at lying.

Even _the Doctor_ had believed her.

She wished he hadn't.

It was months ago now but she thought about it all the time.

There was something about this school survey that reminded her of her time with the Doctor. Clara was determined to get to the bottom of it.

When she was sure the building was empty, Clara made her way to the headteacher's office.

Something about the Inspector rubbed her the wrong way. In the old days, that instinct might have gone ignored, might have been nothing.

But Clara had travelled with the Doctor. Clara had stepped into the Doctor's timeline to protect him. Clara had saved the world and lost so much doing it.

She may have returned to a normal life and the Doctor might have moved on... But Clara wasn't about to ignore what she had learned.

There was something off about Inspector Masters. Clara was certain of it.

She wasn't about to call Kate Stewart's personal emergency line or anything... After all, how would that conversation go?

_"Hello, there's a strange man with a nice suit and a goatee calling himself Inspector Masters who showed up at my school unexpectedly... No, he's very polite and everyone seems to accept his reasons for being here but there's just something weird about him..."_

It hardly sounded like a call which would qualify as Top Priority UNIT material.

But that didn't mean Clara couldn't conduct her own investigation.

Clara tried the door to Mr. Armitage's office.

_Locked._

That was unusual...

But not a problem.

Coal Hill was an old school with a lot of old fixtures, including some of the locks. Clara pulled two hair pins out of her hair and bent them into more useful shapes.

One of her splinter selves had had some slightly criminal tendencies and had bequeathed a few basic burglary skills to Clara.

Just one of the many strange and random things she'd learned from living a thousand different lives in a moment of shattering herself over the Doctor's personal timeline.

It only took Clara a couple of minutes to feel out the tumblers on the office lock.

She stepped inside and started with the desk.

There were papers regarding the school survey but none of them included any mention of Inspector Masters.

Hardly a smoking gun... More the absence of any gun at all.

Which, of course, was the perfect way to hide a possible crime.

Clara jumped as she caught sight of a movement out of the corner of her eye.

She froze, staring out into the dim hallway, heart pounding. She hadn't heard a sound. Everything was silent.

She forced herself out of the chair, though every fiber of her being was screaming at her to stay put. She tiptoed towards the dark rectangle of the open doorway.

She'd never gotten used to this feeling...

She'd _missed_ it.

Bracing herself, she stepped out into the hallway.

_Nothing._

Empty.

She sighed in relief despite herself.

Then she heard a door close in the distance.

Clara smiled involuntarily at the adrenaline rush and ran towards the sound.

Stopping where the hallway divided, Clara held her breath, closed her eyes and listened...

So quiet...

Just the ghost of a footstep.

Off to her left.

She smiled, slipping out of her heels. She set them down on the tile floor, not loudly, but not too softly either. She took the bent hairpins she was still holding and tossed them one by one down the hallway to her right.

Someone was playing a game, trying to avoid her. Well, Clara could play too.

And Clara liked to _win_.

In her stocking feet, Clara slipped quietly down the hallway to her left.

She hid behind a corner and listened again...

She couldn't hear anything, not really, but... She sensed someone was there.

She peeked around the corner. In the dim light, she made out a figure, a silhouette.

She blinked and he was gone.

But she was certain she'd recognized him.

She raced down the hallway. It ended in a wall. There were three doors. She tried them all. All locked. All dark. All silent.

In the past, before the Doctor, Clara might have dismissed her brief glimpse as a trick of the light. But not these days.

She didn't know where he'd gone, how he'd disappeared in the blink of an eye, what he was doing wandering Coal Hill School in the dark. But she knew what she'd seen. Someone had been there.

And she was certain it had been Inspector Masters.

Clara went back to grab her heels and close the headteacher's door. She collected her things and went home.

She wondered what tomorrow would bring.

She hoped it would be something interesting.


	5. Chapter 5: Wednesday Morning

_Chapter 5: Wednesday Morning_

The next day, Clara didn't even make it into the building before the Inspector found her. He was waiting in the car park with two cups.

"Miss Oswald, good morning." He smiled that superior smile.

Clara wondered what it was that made him think he was so far above everyone else.

"Good morning," she said cautiously. She nodded towards the cups. "What have you got there, then?"

"Oh," he said, offering her one. "This is _real_ coffee. Here."

"You got me coffee?" Clara asked, taken aback. Not exactly what she'd been expecting...

"Yeah," he responded, as if this was a totally normal thing to do for a work acquaintance you'd met two days ago.

"Why?" Clara demanded suspiciously.

He shrugged. "Just proving a point," he smirked.

"Did you get the rest of the staff coffee?" Clara asked.

"What?" He seemed baffled by this idea, waved it off. "No, they'll be fine."

"Kay..." Clara wasn't sure what to make of this situation. She was certain he'd seen her spying on him last night. But his manner was warm, friendly.

He seemed slightly disappointed at her hesitation. "Go on, try it!" he encouraged. "Before it gets cold."

He seemed genuine, watching her, waiting for her reaction, enthusiastic to share something new with her.

Again, she was reminded of someone. Again, who that might be eluded her.

But as much as her instincts told her there was something in this man not to be trusted, she now realized that her instincts were also telling her the exact opposite.

Which was _confusing._ And sort of completely unhelpful, really.

Normally, accepting drinks of unknown origin from strange men was the last thing Clara would have considered.

But... He didn't seem _quite_ like a stranger, somehow.

And weirdly, Clara was certain in this moment that he had no ill intent towards her. She would have staked her life on it.

She smiled at him, confused but going with her gut. He seemed equally confused by her reaction. She raised her cup in a mock toast and tasted the coffee.

"Oh." Her eyes widened. "_Oh..._ What is that?"

He grinned from ear to ear, vindicated. "_That,_ Clara Oswald, is _coffee_."

"It's incredible..." She stared at the cup as if it could tell her its secrets. She took another long sip, tasting the medley of flavors. "What else is in here?"

"Sugar, spices," he informed her. "In France in the 1700s, this is how they drank their coffee. Good, isn't it?" There was that smug smile again.

Clara just nodded wordlessly. She wanted to _live _in that cup of coffee.

The Inspector's eyes sparkled mischievously as he watched her hug her beverage. "Of course, if you don't like it, I could just take it back and get you some from that machine of yours inside..."

She pulled the cup out of his reach, laughing. "Don't you _dare."_ She stared at him inquisitively. "Seriously, I've never tasted _anything_ like this. Where did you get it?"

"I know a place," he said, purposefully uninformative.

"Care to share?" Clara asked hopefully.

"Not really," he smiled.

"Well... Thanks for the coffee, Inspector," Clara said.

"You're welcome," he responded, looking pleased with himself.

They started walking towards the school entrance. Clara kept glancing at the Inspector out of the corner of her eye. She was puzzled. The more she saw of the Inspector, the less any of this made sense.

Because right now, she felt totally comfortable in his presence, as if they were old friends.

He certainly seemed to treat her as if they had met before.

"How much longer are you here for, exactly?" Clara asked as they reached the door.

"Not sure..." he answered. "Until the job is done."

"And what job is that again?" Clara asked with knowing glance.

The Inspector chuckled a bit at her tone. "A survey of Coal Hill School," he said unconvincingly.

Clara thought for a moment, sizing up the enigmatic man in front of her. He met her gaze openly, almost encouraging. As if he _wanted_ her to find the answers she was searching for.

On impulse, she decided to lay it all out on the table. "What were you doing here last night?" she asked outright.

He didn't bother denying it. Grinned delightedly. "Working," he told her. "What were _you_ doing, following me?"

"Odd hours for a school inspection," Clara pointed out. "After everyone has gone home for the day."

"Odd hours for a teacher," he returned.

Other staff and students had started arriving. The Inspector and Clara stood, eyes locked, at a conversational impasse as the rest of the school milled around them.

"I'm going to find out what you're really up to, you know," Clara told him quietly.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," the Inspector grinned. "Anything else, Miss Oswald?"

"Hmm. Not right now," Clara decided.

"Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll see you inside. Have a nice day," he waved. He pointed to her cup. "Enjoy your coffee."

As Clara walked to her classroom, she found herself smiling.

She wasn't really sure why.


	6. Chapter 6: Wednesday Afternoon

Most of the chapters are longer from here on out. Like... _Much_ longer. These two just wouldn't shut up. :) Hope you're enjoying! :)

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_Chapter 6: Wednesday Afternoon_

Clara returned from her lunch break to find an empty classroom.

She frowned, looked around the room, glanced at the clock on the wall, checked her watch...

"I sent them home for the day," came the Inspector's voice from behind her.

He had appeared out of nowhere and was leaning against the doorframe as if he'd been there for hours.

"You sent my class home?" Clara asked incredulously.

"Yep," he said happily.

"Why?" Clara demanded.

"I wanted to talk to you alone." He shrugged, clearly unaware of how strange that sounded. "Might take a while, so I freed up your afternoon for you."

Clara shook her head, again reminded of _something_. Her students, perhaps...? There was a strange mix of childish ignorance and deliberate rebellion in his choices. As if he was trying to break all the rules without even _knowing_ all the rules. "And you didn't think to run this by me first?"

He frowned slightly, as if that hadn't even occurred to him. "I didn't, no... Is that a problem?"

"Kind of, yeah," Clara responded. "We have schedules, quizzes, tests... _Parents._ What about the headteacher?"

"Oh, I cleared it with him," the Inspector assured her. "It was practically his idea."

"Really?" Clara didn't even try to hide her disbelief. Because that did _not_ sound like Mr. Armitage.

The Inspector squinted, considering his answer, though it hadn't been a complicated question. "... _Kind_ of," he said at last, eyes glinting humorously. "That was his impression, anyway."

Clara didn't know what to say but somehow felt that she was losing this argument. "This is... Very unusual."

"And?" the Inspector asked, unperturbed.

Clara narrowed her eyes at him. "_And..._ I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"Ok..." The Inspector seemed to take this seriously. He thought for a moment. "Please?" He grimaced uncertainly, like the word was an unfamiliar one.

It was such a bad idea but... He looked at her so hopefully. And really, Clara was far too curious to refuse.

And at least he had _asked_...

Sort of.

"Fine... Fine," she conceded grudgingly. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there," he said. "Come on!"

Clara stopped, glared at him warningly. "I don't like surprises."

He just made a face and started guiding her out the door, as if she'd forgotten how to walk. "Yes, you do."

Clara was totally at a loss at this point. All she could do was shake her head at this pushy, likable stranger. "Ok, but I'm not getting in your car."

The Inspector gave her an odd look. Like _respect._ "Fair enough. I'll call you a cab. How's that?"

"I guess that's ok..." Clara decided, still regarding him suspiciously.

They walked outside and Clara waited while he hailed a cab. She looked around at the deserted school grounds. Everyone was inside, in class.

If she were to disappear, no one would know for at least a few hours...

She'd have to be on her guard.

It was exhilarating, knowing that her decisions _mattered_.

The Inspector spoke to the driver of the black cab that pulled up, handed him some cash.

Clara walked over cautiously.

"All set," the Inspector smiled, opening the door for her.

"Hmm." Clara gave him one more dubious look. He seemed to find this amusing. She shook her head, regretting her decision even as she was making it. She got in the car.

"See you there," he said.

"Wait, what?" Clara asked, taken aback.

"I'll meet you there," he reiterated. "I have my own transportation."

"Well, where should I meet you? If I get there first?" Clara asked, wanting to have a plan.

He laughed. "I'll definitely get there first," he said and closed the door. He watched the car pull away then turned back towards the school. Clara looked through the rear window and saw him reenter the school building at a leisurely pace. The car park was in the opposite direction. Clara shook her head, baffled.

She asked the driver where they were headed. She wasn't even surprised when he wouldn't tell her.

He said the Inspector had paid him a lot of money to keep it a surprise.

Clara found herself somehow irritated and laughing at the same time.

She watched the view out the window. She had half-expected the car to be taking her to some back alley or deserted warehouse... Maybe a quarry?

Weirdly, a lot of alien plots happened in quarries.

Instead, the car was heading to the nicer parts of London, towards Mayfair.

Clara wasn't sure what to make of that.

There had been an alien plot based in the Shard back when she'd first met the Doctor, as well as various other schemes centered in well-known landmarks over the decades... So highly-visible areas were certainly not an absolute indicator of safety.

Still, it threw her off a bit.

Just like everything about Inspector Masters.

Eventually they pulled up in front of a bar.

_Rivoli_, the text on the windows read.

Clara recognized the name but had never been inside.

She actually didn't even _know_ anyone who had been to this bar. It wasn't exactly a casual after-work hangout for school teachers.

Inspector Masters was waiting out front as they arrived. He opened the door for Clara. "See? Told you I'd get here first," he grinned.

Clara didn't get out. "_Here_," she said, her tone accusing.

He looked behind him, turned back. "Yeah?"

"This is the Ritz," Clara said, her tone dropping like it was an impolite word. "The Ritz Hotel."

He nodded, confused by her reaction. "Yeah... I know."

"You're taking me _here?_" Clara asked incredulously.

He frowned. "What's wrong with it? It's a nice place, right?"

"It's _too_ nice," Clara exclaimed in consternation.

He rolled his eyes and stared at her reproachfully. "Ok, well now you're just being difficult. Get out of the car," he said in a condescending tone.

Clara sighed and shook her head at him but she got out and stepped onto the sidewalk. The cab drove away. Clara followed it with her eyes, sort of wishing she was still inside it...

But she just _had_ to know.

"Stay there," he said high-handedly.

"Yes, sir..." Clara muttered sarcastically as he walked towards the door. Though he should have been out of earshot, she could have sworn he heard her because he laughed and winked at her.

Which was _annoying_.

He knocked on the door. An employee came out. Inspector Masters had a short, intense conversation with the man, then beckoned Clara over.

"Are they closed?" she asked, surprised.

"Not for us," he said. "Come on."

Clara stepped through the doorway into one of the most stunning venues she'd ever set foot in... And she'd been into _space._

Her jaw dropped. "It's _beautiful_," she said breathlessly.

The Inspector nodded casually. "Yeah, I like it here."

The employee gestured politely towards the back of the room. "This way, please."

Clara surveyed the opulence as they walked towards their table. Art Deco-style pictures lined the walls. There was nowhere to turn without finding something else to look at. Rich burgundies and browns and gold... So much _gold_.

It wasn't the least bit subtle. It was excess taken so far it somehow reached the level of refinement. An assault on the senses. Aggressively gorgeous. Impossible to ignore.

"I am _definitely_ not dressed for this..." she realized, looking down at her business casual skirt and blouse.

The Inspector gave her a serious up and down glance, assessing her outfit. "No, you look fine," he assured her.

She was grateful for his opinion but definitely would have dressed up for this had she known where they were headed.

The server sat them at the back of the room, next to the bar, underneath a picture of Leda and the Swan.

He left a menu and walked back behind the bar.

"So... What are you in the mood for?" the Inspector asked casually.

"Seriously?" Clara said in a hushed tone. She looked around the deserted room. "We're the only ones here!"

"Yeah," he said. "So?"

"How did you get them to let us in?" Clara asked.

He shrugged mischievously. "I know people."

Clara knew a lie when she heard it. "_What _people?" she demanded.

"Just people," he said lightly. "So, drinks? They have some good sandwiches here, too."

Clara glared at him. "I don't think you know _any _people." He put down the menu and looked at her, seeing she wouldn't be brushed off again. "You never talk about _anyone. _Who are you, seriously? I don't even know your first name..." she realized.

He made an _oops_ face and didn't answer. Clara could almost see him trying to think of a way to avoid her question.

"No," she said. "You give me _something_ or I walk out of this..." She looked around helplessly. "_Incredibly_ beautiful bar, right now."

He gave her a direct look, finally seeming to take her seriously. He sighed slightly. "Alright then... What do you want to know?"

She started with the basics, trying to sound him out. "How long have you been an Inspector?"

"Lead Inspector," he corrected her with a smug smile. "Not long."

"What did you do before that?" she asked.

"I worked at a University for a while," he told her.

"Doing what?" He didn't exactly give off a teacher vibe.

"I headed a research group." Clara nodded. She could picture that. "I still do, technically," he continued. "I'll probably go back there after this."

Clara raised an eyebrow."Right, so school inspections, more of a side gig then."

He looked at her askance. "I was interested in Coal Hill specifically, if you must know."

"Why?" Clara demanded.

He thought for a moment. "That's a very long story, and one I'm not going to tell you right now. Anything else?"

She looked him up and down. "You have any family?"

"I used to, a long time ago..." He looked down for a moment. "Mostly just me now."

Clara thought about her mother, about Mrs. Maitland. "Sorry," she said sincerely. She glanced at his left hand. No ring. "Married?"

"I was, for a while," he said. "Not any more."

That was a surprisingly normal story.

"Kids?" she queried.

He shook his head. "Uh, no."

"Siblings?" she wondered. He must have _someone_ he cared about.

He paused. "One," he admitted, oddly cautious.

Clara squinted at him. "Brother?" she guessed.

He shot her an unreadable look and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"You close?" Clara inquired. She was an only child but had always wanted a sibling.

"Sometimes," he said unhelpfully. He looked at Clara, clearly ready to drop the subject. "Satisfied?"

Clara was torn. She believed his answers but somehow had come away with the impression that she'd chosen all the wrong questions.

_Frustrating._

Not much else she could think to ask at the moment, though. "Yeah, alright," she conceded begrudgingly.

"Good," he said, turning on her with an intimidating stare. "_My_ turn. Tell me about Clara Oswald."

Clara didn't much like the shoe being on the other foot. But she usually had no trouble avoiding questions she didn't want to answer. "Not much to tell, really..." she lied.

He gave her a hard look. "I don't believe you."

"That's a bit rude," she reprimanded, trying to get him to back off.

It didn't work. At _all_.

"So is _lying_," he retorted. "I told you the truth. I would appreciate it if you afforded me the same courtesy."

Clara was slightly annoyed at being called out like this but... He did have a point. She owed him something true, something personal.

It was only fair.

But she really wasn't sure where to start.

How did you distill your life, your _self_ into a few sentences to a total stranger?

There was small talk, of course, the lines people use, the stories we become accustomed to telling about ourselves.

But... That wasn't what the Inspector wanted. Just as it's not what Clara had expected from him.

So she started with something that _mattered_, with the person who was on her mind every single day.

_Danny._

"I..." she sighed, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She didn't like to talk about this. How had she gotten herself into this situation again? "Someone I loved... Died. About a year ago."

"I'm sorry," the Inspector said softly. He seemed to mean it. "Boyfriend?"

"Yeah..." Clara said, gulping as tears sprang into her eyes. She'd wanted to spend the rest of her life with Danny. She'd imagined an entire future with Danny Pink. Jokes, shared hopes and fears, kids... "More than that. Much more."

She could feel the Inspector's eyes on her, as if he was looking straight into her soul. "What else?" he demanded.

_The Doctor._

How to explain the Doctor?

"I had... A friend." Accurate, but too small a word for the Doctor. But then, all words were too small for the Doctor. "I sort of... Pushed him away. And now he's gone. I think he's gone for good."

She glanced up at the Inspector and saw that he was listening with rapt attention.

"What would you say," he asked seriously, "if you could talk to him again?"

Clara found it weirdly easy to confide in this man. He _listened._ So intently. Like every word she said mattered. "I... um." It was a good question. Not one she had prepared an answer for. "I think I'd ask him to give me a second chance," she concluded.

He seemed so interested. "Do you think he would?" the Inspector asked.

Clara shook her head regretfully. "He's not really a second chances kind of a person."

The Inspector seemed to disagree with her characterization of the Doctor. "You sure about that? Maybe he's just afraid of losing people."

Clara rolled her eyes slightly. What gave this arrogant stranger the authority to have _any_ opinions on the Doctor?

"Well, it doesn't matter. Either way, he'd never come back..." Now it was Clara's turn to want to change the subject. "Why am I telling you all of this?" she asked. She knew why, of course, but was trying to shame him into stopping. "You don't want to hear all this," she informed him.

"I do, actually," he grumbled, annoyed that the conversation was changing direction. "That's why I _asked_."

"And what does _any_ of this have to do with a survey of Coal Hill?" Clara said, trying to put him on the spot.

This time, her tactic paid off.

"Ah, well, that's slightly hard to explain..." he said, eyes sliding away.

Clara put two and two together. "So... _Nothing_."

He shrugged lightly. "I could make something up if you'd like," he offered.

"Another lie, you mean?" Clara asked.

"A very _convincing_ lie," he said, as if that somehow made all the difference. "If it would make you feel better."

But Clara was done with comforting lies. She wanted the truth, no matter what it might be. "I'd rather you tell me why you're _really_ here."

She saw a momentary flash of a smile, as if he was somehow _proud_ of her. "I'm... Hmm. I asked for this assignment."

Clara laughed. Because she'd finally started to figure this man out now. "Made it up, you mean."

He grinned at her, shameless. "Same difference."

"Because of me?" she guessed.

He snickered. "That's a very egotistical assumption."

"Well, I don't see anyone else sitting at this table," Clara pointed out, unphased.

"Alright, yes," he admitted with barely a struggle. "I wanted to meet you."

"Why?" Clara had to know.

This seemed more difficult for him to answer. "I... Heard about you. From a mutual friend."

Clara thought about her friends and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Oh? Who's that?"

He sat back in his seat coolly. "That's all I'm willing to say right now."

Clara kind of wanted to smack him. "You're infuriating. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Once in a while, yes," he said. It was clearly an understatement. He gestured at the menu. "So, what would you like?"

Clara glanced through the menu and just started laughing.

"What _now_?" he asked, exasperated.

"This menu is ridiculous!" Clara protested.

"How so?" he frowned.

"Half of it's caviar," Clara realized. "There's a five hundred pound cocktail in here!"

"Oh, yeah," he responded, "that one's alright. You want to try it?"

"No!" Clara cried.

"Ok..." the Inspector muttered, baffled and apparently slightly offended.

Clara had never known anyone who was in a position to be completely unimpressed by a five hundred pound drink. But then, Inspector Masters seemed to lack any sense of scale... In _everything_ he did.

It was difficult to imagine that level of privilege.

But despite how out-of-proportion his gestures were, he honestly didn't seem to understand her reaction.

He was just trying to be nice.

Clara suddenly realized she might have actually hurt his feelings.

"So, this is all just... _Normal_ for you?" she asked cautiously.

"Kind of," he shrugged. He was sulking.

"Ok, well... It's _a lot_ for most people," Clara explained gently. "Like me."

He looked up at her. "We can go someplace else," he offered.

Clara looked around the empty bar. It was _weird_ to be alone with this almost-stranger in a high-end venue... Weird and _intensely_ flattering. "No, it's actually really nice," Clara conceded. The Inspector brightened up. "I'm not doing cocktails and caviar though," she told him, shaking her head and dropping the menu.

He paused. "I have an idea," he said.

Clara looked at him, slightly worried. "Am I going to like it?"

He peered at her, uncertain. "Hope so... We'll see."

He went to go talk to the bartender, who exited through the main doors leading into the main part of the hotel.

The Inspector slid back into the booth looking pleased.

Clara didn't even bother to ask.

They made small talk for a few minutes, talking about Coal Hill, about the history of the hotel.

The Inspector was remarkably well-informed and happy to share his apparently vast library of trivia.

Clara wondered when he found the time to learn all of this, on top of a school inspection, some sort of undisclosed research project and whatever it had taken to arrange their current lunch date.

Most weeks, Clara could barely find time to teach, mark papers and do her laundry...

Did he ever _stop_?

The bartender came back with two other hotel staff members in tow. They had a cart with platters of perfect little desserts and a china teapot.

"Tea," Clara realized with a smile.

"Better than caviar?" the Inspector asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Clara confirmed. "Much better. Perfect."

They didn't ask each other any more personal questions, tacitly calling a truce as they enjoyed their tea.

The Inspector had opinions and information on the tea and cakes. Clara was happy to listen. Partly because it was hilarious how he always had a take on the most inconsequential things and partly because what he had to say was actually really interesting.

Some of his facts were incredibly obscure.

He seemed awfully sure about them though.

She found herself staring as they finished their tea.

"It's driving me crazy..." she said, speaking her thoughts aloud.

"What is?" he asked curiously.

"You seem _so familiar_ somehow, but I can't put my finger on it." She sighed, frustrated.

"Just have one of those faces, I guess," he said glibly.

"No," Clara contradicted him, "it's something _specific_. Have we met before, somewhere?"

Oddly, he seemed unsure. Curious himself. "Maybe, in passing. It's a small world. I'd be surprised if we hadn't run into each other at some point."

_Weird._

He took out his wallet and extracted a stack of cash, counting out several notes to pay the bartender.

Clara just shook her head, not even attempting to hide her stare. "So, good money, then, being a Lead Inspector?" she asked.

"Probably," he said absently. He was _guessing_. "Why?"

Clara nodded at his wallet. "That's... A _lot_ of money you have there."

"Ah." He smiled at her conspiratorially. "Is it? I guess I must be a very good Inspector then."

"Lead Inspector," Clara corrected him teasingly.

"Precisely," he smiled.


	7. Chapter 7: Wednesday Night

_Chapter 7: Wednesday Night_

Clara was asleep.

Something woke her, like a static shock inside of her brain.

She opened her eyes, blinking into the darkness of her bedroom, confused.

There was some sort of cage-like apparatus around her head. She could just see it in the periphery of her vision. It had blinking lights.

Clara was _afraid_.

She wanted to get up, to run, but her limbs felt strangely heavy.

She couldn't move.

She noticed a figure standing over her, silhouetted against the window. A figure she recognized.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he said.

"What's happening?" she asked Inspector Masters, alarmed. "What are you doing in my house?"

He sat down on the edge of her bed, leaned in close so she could see his eyes in the darkness. "Don't worry," he told her softly, soothingly. "You don't need to be afraid. This is just a dream. You're _dreaming,_ Clara..."

She looked into his eyes... And _believed_ him. And as she believed him, his words became true. She felt the fear slip away.

"Dreaming..." she murmured. Of course it was a dream... But that left her with a new question. "What are you doing in my dream?"

"All kinds of crazy things can happen in dreams," he replied distractedly, checking readings of some kind on a second device.

Clara watched him, fearless, curious. "That's not an answer," she told him.

This got his attention. He laughed. "You should go back to sleep," he said condescendingly.

"But it's only a dream, right?" Clara said, quickly, desperately. She didn't want the dream to end just yet. This man was an enigma, a puzzle. And Clara _hated_ puzzles, at least the ones she didn't have the solution to. If the only answers she could get were in a dream, then so be it. "Just tell me why you're here," she begged. "_Please._"

He paused. Clara could see that he was considering her plea. "You won't remember any of this tomorrow, you know," he informed her.

"So what's the harm?" she pointed out.

"Alright then," he decided. "Why not? Let me tell you a story..." He set his device aside and smiled at her. "Are you listening, Clara?"

"Yeah," she nodded. She would have listened to him all night. He was _fascinating._ She didn't even know why... Maybe he would tell her.

His eyes took on a distant look, thinking of where to begin. "Once upon a time..." he started.

Clara smiled. All the best stories began that way.

"Long ago and far away..." he said, and it was like he was remembering. "There were two little boys, two princes. They grew up with every opportunity, every luxury. But then they ran away and left it all behind."

"Why did they run?" Clara asked. She felt her questions were necessary to the story. Like when she was little and her mother had told her bedtime stories. Like when the Doctor had told her stories.

He shrugged, continuing thoughtfully. "Different reasons. One ran out of fear and desperation, to save the last piece of a life he had lost. The other ran because..." He blinked, frowning. "Because he was _alone_."

Clara frowned back. "I don't understand."

"It's like..." the Inspector sighed. "Like when you're holding a balloon. It wants to escape, wants to be free. Its very nature pulls it up and outwards every moment. While you hold the string, it stays with you. It's _yours_. But the instant you let go..." He opened his hand as if releasing something. "The boy had to be free."

Clara didn't entirely understand what he meant but she wanted to hear more of the story. "And what happened to them, the boys?"

He smiled, sadly. "What happens to all little boys: they grew up. And then one day, they had to return home. Because there was a War." His eyes went dark, fell. "The biggest War that ever was. They fought together, side by side, fought for the home they had left so long ago."

He stopped talking.

Clara broke the silence.

"Did they win?" she wanted to know.

"In a sense." He looked up again. There was something in his gaze that Clara couldn't identify. An emptiness, perhaps. A distance. "But in winning, they lost themselves. They lost each other. They were torn apart."

"What happened next?" Clara asked.

He smiled, adjusted something on the headset she was wearing. "One day, one of the boys met a girl, a young woman. She saved him. She very nearly destroyed herself doing it..." He gave her a look, almost reproachful. "But, impossibly, she lived. She survived. And while the boy was struggling to be free, was being pulled away by the big open sky, she held him tight. She kept him close so he wouldn't be lost."

Clara suddenly realized that she knew this story. "It's the Doctor," she said. "You're talking about me and the Doctor."

"Yes," he confirmed, pleased. "I am."

If it hadn't all been a dream, Clara would have wondered how on Earth he could have known all of this. Dreams were like that, though. Everyone had all the information they needed to move the story forward.

But then she remembered that she also knew the ending. Clara shook her head, quietly devastated. All the bravado of daily life set aside, because such things had no place in dreams. "But he's gone..." she said sadly. "I lied to him and he left."

The Inspector didn't respond to this directly. "The Doctor needs people, friends... He gets lost on his own. And right now, the person he needs is _you,_ Clara."

She said it again. Because she knew the Doctor and she knew there were some things about him that never changed. "He's not coming back." She looked him in the eye, explaining because maybe he just didn't understand the Doctor. "The Doctor doesn't come back."

"Did he ever tell you that he's mentally linked to you?" the Inspector asked seriously.

She thought back to some of their conversations. It seemed so long ago... And just like yesterday. "Yeah... Sort of."

_Sort of_ was often the best you got with the Doctor.

"That link is still active," the Inspector informed Clara. "There's a thread between his mind and yours, stretching out across Time and Space, connecting the two of you." He looked happy about this. "You'd think it would have severed but it's still there, just barely."

"What does that mean?" Clara asked. How did this fit into the story?

"It means... It means that he's not quite gone yet. He hasn't _quite_ left." He looked down at her and smiled, so honestly. "And it means we might be able to get him _back_."

_We_, he had said. Like this would somehow be a group effort, even though Clara had no idea what was going on.

But it made a sort of sense, in a dream-logic kind of way. And Clara was one hundred percent on board with this plan, whatever it was.

Because Clara hadn't even dared to hope for that, for a chance to see the Doctor again.

She found herself wishing this wasn't just a dream... Because it certainly was a good one.

Once she woke up, the Doctor wouldn't really be coming back.

She wanted to stay in the dream.

"How?" Clara asked, leaning into the fantasy. "How can we get him back?"

The Inspector narrowed his eyes craftily. "If the link is still strong enough, I might have an idea. But it's fading every day and I have to be sure. Because what I'm planning could go very right or very wrong, and I want to be certain it's worth the risk..."

Clara understood this immediately, instinctively, laughed a little. "You're going to use me as bait."

"Sort of..." he smirked. "Does that offend you?"

Clara raised her eyebrows, thinking back to her travels with the Doctor. "Not exactly the first time."

He chuckled, recognizing the understatement. "No, I wouldn't think so." He became serious again all of a sudden. "You miss him, right? Don't you?" His face was so earnest, as if this was the most important question ever. "I had to be sure you wanted to go back to travelling with him."

Clara finally put the pieces together. "That's why you came to Coal Hill? To... Investigate me?"

"Partly," he said. "Well, mostly," he amended. "Yes."

"Yes," Clara said. "The answer is _yes_. I thought I could do it but..." She closed her eyes, pained, reliving that moment. "I haven't gone a single day since he left without wishing I'd done things differently."

Inspector Masters nodded, smiling at her, his eyes weirdly sad. "Thank you, that's what I thought."

His gaze drifted away. Clara watched him. He was lost somewhere internally, silent. But Clara's instincts were whispering.

"The other boy," she said slowly. "The second boy. What happened to him?"

She thought she caught a momentary smile, but it disappeared so quickly she almost doubted she'd even seen it.

"I'm not sure yet..." he mused. "Maybe I'll let you know someday, when I find out."

"He's you, isn't he?" It was phrased as a question but she was certain. "The other boy. He's _you_." She realized what that meant. "You grew up with the Doctor."

"Yes," he said simply.

"You're trying to help him," she continued her train of thought aloud.

"I am, yes," he confirmed. "You may have noticed that he's not very good at taking care of himself."

Clara had to laugh at the understatement. "I had noticed that, actually."

The Inspector smiled back wryly. "I can tell you from long, personal experience: he never has been."

"But why _me_?" Clara wondered aloud with a puzzled frown. "There have been so many others..." She'd seen them, in passing, when she stepped into the Doctor's timeline. So many amazing, irreplaceable people. "I'm not that important."

She wasn't fishing, wasn't looking for some kind of compliment or contradiction. It was simply the truth.

You couldn't be friends with the Doctor and believe you were the only person who had ever mattered to him.

Clara knew that better than anyone.

And that was good. The Doctor had room in his life for all of his best friends. And he needed every, single one of them.

But the Inspector was shaking his head.

"Oh, but Clara Oswald..." he said, looking directly at her. Like she was the only human being in the entire world. So much like the way the Doctor had looked at her... The way the Doctor looked at _everyone_. "You _are_ important. You broke your soul open over his entire lifetime rather than let him die. That's the kind of person he needs right now. That's the kind of person I need by his side," he clarified. "Someone I can trust to do whatever it takes to save him from himself."

Clara understood that. The Doctor did have a tendency to do very stupid things on his own.

"Why not you, though?" she had to ask. As grateful as Clara was to be a part of any story involving the Doctor, she still didn't quite see how her role was so vital here. This man clearly knew the Doctor so well, had grown up with him. She looked at the Inspector searchingly. "You asked if I miss the Doctor... Don't _you_ miss him?"

He met her gaze obliquely, looked away, guilty. "I always miss him," he said quietly. He turned back to Clara again. "But this isn't a role I can fill myself. It's..." He frowned. "... Complicated. It can't be me. He needs someone else to take care of him."

Clara was pretty sure he was wrong.

She'd accepted every part of his story up until now. But all of this... To make sure the Doctor, his childhood friend, had _someone else_ by his side to take care of him. It seemed... Overcomplicated.

Clara wasn't about to complain or anything, just... It seemed like he was missing the obvious solution.

And then what?

His friend was happy and he went on his way again, alone?

That didn't seem like a great plan.

"What about _you_?" Clara asked.

He blinked, confused by the question "What about me?"

"Who takes care of you?" Clara said. She used the tone she reserved for moments when one of her students was being purposefully obtuse.

He gave her a look. Almost warning, the hint of a storm on the horizon. "I don't need anyone to take care of me."

Clara wasn't intimidated. She knew she was right.

"Would you know, if you did?" she demanded.

Anger flashed like lightning in the distance. Then he just smiled. "I think that's the end of the story for now," he declared.

"But what happens next?" Clara wondered, wanting to keep him talking.

"I guess we'll find out together," he said with a friendly smile. The device on her head lit up his face like fairy lights. His eyes were so dark in the darkness... She wanted to fall into them. "Back to sleep now, Clara Oswald."

"But I have more questions..." Clara protested, fighting to keep her suddenly-heavy eyelids open.

He chuckled. "I bet you do, but they'll have to wait. Off you go, Clara... Sleep now."

She wanted to argue but the words got lost somewhere in his eyes before she could even think them.

"I'll see you in the morning..." she heard him say from somewhere far away.

Clara sighed as a wave of slumber pulled her under.


	8. Chapter 8: Thursday Morning

_Chapter 8: Thursday Morning_

Clara woke feeling better than she had in a long time.

She felt remarkably well-rested, but it was more than that. She felt _hopeful._ Like there was something good waiting for her, somewhere just around the corner. Like there was _magic_ in the world.

It was a long time since she'd had something to look forward to...

She'd missed that feeling.

Weirdly, there wasn't any specific event attached to this emotion. It was simply _there_.

She thought she must have had a good dream the night before, maybe? But she couldn't place any of the details.

That was often the way with dreams.

She couldn't help smiling when she saw Inspector Masters waiting for her in the car park. He looked happy to see her.

"Good morning," he greeted her. "Sleep well?"

"I did, as a matter of fact," she responded. "You're still here, then?"

"Still here," he said, stating the obvious.

She nodded at the two small cups he'd brought with him this morning. "What have you got there, then?"

"Oh," he said. "Espresso in the style of... Let's say Venice? Around 1920?" He handed her one, continuing. "More of a cortado really, since I had them add milk. A bit unorthodox for the time but I was feeling adventurous."

Clara shook her head. "I don't even know what a cortado is..." she said, taking a sip.

"Do you like it?" he asked intently. It seemed important to him that she did.

She nodded. "It's delicious," she said sincerely. She gave him a sidelong glance, feeling again that she was missing something. "Why do you keep bringing me coffee?"

He seemed concerned. "You said you like coffee."

"I do but..." Clara laughed. He looked so confused. "Never mind. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he responded, seemingly at ease again. "Shall we?"

They walked into the school together, arm in arm, before going their separate ways.


	9. Chapter 9: Thursday Afternoon

_Chapter 9: Thursday Afternoon_

That afternoon, as Clara was preparing to leave for home, Inspector Masters appeared in the doorway of her classroom again.

"Drinks, Miss Oswald?" he asked in a tone that presumed the answer would be an affirmative.

Clara looked at him, crossed her arms and smiled. "That's a bit unprofessional, isn't it?"

"Is it?" he asked insincerely. "Hmm, well it's a good thing I'm all done with my inspection then."

"Really?" Clara asked, surprised. "You're done?" She felt a twinge of something. She didn't stop to identify it.

"Yep," he grinned. "All finished."

"So, how did we do?" Clara asked.

"Very well," the Inspector told her. "Coal Hill School will be receiving an official commendation."

Clara hadn't been expecting an honest answer somehow. "Wow, that's... Great."

"And you might be getting a payraise but..." He smirked. "Don't tell anyone. They might be upset."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Right, cause you know people."

"I do, yes," he said, eyes sparkling. "So... Drinks?"

Clara had decided to accept the offer the moment he'd asked.

"Why not," she said, shrugging casually.

They walked a few blocks to a bar she'd used to go to with Danny.

"Not too nice, I hope?" His tone was a bit sarcastic but his face was sincere.

"Just nice enough," she assured him.

"Good," he nodded. She could almost see him ticking off a mental _Success_ box. She held back a laugh. He didn't notice as they both took two open seats at the bar.

He ordered Scotch, she ordered wine.

"So what's next for Clara Oswald?" the Inspector asked her.

"I don't know, really..." Clara said. She remembered that magical feeling she'd had when traveling with the Doctor. She wasn't sure why it had come back this morning but she would go to the ends of the Earth - and much, _much_ further - to keep it.

She didn't know how to explain that to the man next to her.

"Going to try to keep my options open, I think," she said vaguely. "What about you? Back to your University job?"

"Probably, yes," he said, swirling his drink. "Still work to be done there."

Clara wondered why he looked so disappointed.

"Any plans for Christmas?" Clara asked.

He blinked at her in genuine surprise. "Oh, is it Christmas?"

Clara laughed, eyeing the garlands and Santas scattered around the bar. "Yeah, in a few weeks... Same time as last year," she added. "How do you not know that?"

He just shrugged it off, like it was a private joke of some kind. "I've been busy. Christmas..." He nodded thoughtfully. "That's perfect, actually."

Clara just stared at him. "You are _so_ strange."

"No, I'm not," he contradicted her reflexively. Then he narrowed his eyes, curious. "Strange how?"

"You just..." She wasn't sure where to even begin. "... Don't _fit_."

He looked around at a group of men in the back. They were shouting rowdily at the match on the televisions. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said superiorly.

Clara was still staring. It was like the answer was on the tip of her tongue. "You really, _really_ remind me of someone..."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," he said.

"Oh?" Clara prodded. "Anyone specific? Cause I could really use a clue."

"Well..." He leaned in close, conspiratorially. Clara mimicked the move, nodding in mock-seriousness. "You know that Prime Minister, Saxon? That was a few years back now..." He gave her a weird look. "How old were you then?"

She ignored his question. "The crazy one who killed the American President on television?"

He looked like he was going to laugh for some reason, backed away and took a sip of his drink. "Yes, that's the one."

"What about him?" Clara asked, not sure where this was going.

He looked at her sideways. "Well, I've been told that I look a bit like him."

"Hmm," Clara frowned, regarding him critically. She shook her head. "No, I don't see it."

He stared at her as if she'd said something hilarious. "Really? You sure?"

She considered the man next to her. So collected, so poised. She would have bet a month's wages that he had the next ten years of his life planned out... Down to the _minute_. She thought back to what she remembered of the mad Prime Minister. All chaotic, wild energy. Manic, harsh, terrifying.

She supposed there was a slight facial resemblance but the similarity was a passing one at best.

"I mean... Not really, no."

He laughed down into his drink, shaking his head helplessly. "Alright, then."

Clara ignored the reaction, feeling that she was finally on the track of an answer.

"It's something else, though, it's not your face it's..." She floundered, but kept talking, putting the words together as she went. "It's the way you behave, the way you talk." She frowned thoughtfully. "The stuff you _don't_ say... Wait. _Wait._"

Clara's eyes widened. For a moment, she couldn't even believe what she'd just realized.

The man next to her went very still, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. Wary, like a wild animal that knew it had been detected.

"I know who it is," Clara told him triumphantly, her tone hushed. She knew he knew, too. Because it _couldn't_ be a coincidence. "I know who you remind me of."

"Oh?" he asked casually. But his manner was anything but casual.

"But... _No_." Clara shook her head in disbelief. "You said you have a brother?"

He didn't move. He didn't speak. But his face told her everything.

"_No_..." Clara laughed. "No! _Really?_" She leaned in close. The rest of the bar went on with their conversations, oblivious. But Clara's world shrank down to two people: One sitting next to her, one out in the Universe, somewhere... So similar.

The man next to her looked away from her inquisitive eyes, swirling his drink. He was trying to hold back a thrilled smile. And failing.

"You're his _brother_," Clara said, close enough so that only he could hear her in the noisy bar. "The Doctor has a brother... And it's _you._"

"Not usually how I introduce myself, but... Yes," he acknowledged. "Well done," he congratulated her. "I didn't think you'd figure that one out."

Clara felt like kicking herself. "I can't believe I didn't see it sooner, actually. You two are _so much_ alike."

"We're really not," he denied with a smile.

Clara shook her head. It was impossible not to see the similarities now that she knew. "You _really_ are," Clara informed him.

He avoided her gaze. "You wouldn't say that if you knew me better."

"I think I _would_," Clara retorted. She thought back. The Doctor didn't talk about his family... She knew from her splinter selves that he had had children and grandchildren, long ago, but didn't remember anything about a sibling. "He's never mentioned you," she tried, fishing.

He gave her a knowing look. "He has, he just... Doesn't use my name. He thinks he's being subtle." He missed the look that Clara gave him, his attention turning to the television screen over the bar as the football fans got louder again behind them. He reached into his jacket. "Hang on."

There was a small whirring sound and the football disappeared, replaced by what Clara recognized as Peppa Pig.

Artie had loved Peppa Pig for a while... When he was _much_ younger.

Clara looked at the man next to her, incredulous. "Did you just do that?"

He smirked and raised his eyebrows at her as the football fans yelped in dismay.

Clara covered a giggle at the Time Lord's pride in his little trick. "You just changed the channel. To _cartoons._"

He shrugged. "I'm not much of a football guy." He snickered as one of the staff members tried unsuccessfully to switch the channel back.

"You're ridiculous..." Clara said, shaking her head in disbelief. "_Both_ of you are _ridiculous_."

He didn't respond, just smiled to himself.

"So, you're here to help the Doctor?" Clara asked. "How is he, is he alright?"

The man put his drink down. "He's on his own right now."

"Can't imagine that's going very well," Clara noted.

"No, not really," he agreed. "There's a possible timeline where he meets you again. I plan to make certain that happens."

Clara shook her head, guilty. "He'd never take me back, though... Not after how we left things."

"Trust me," he responded, trying to catch her gaze, "he'd never _not_ take you back. But he's tricky. He needs to think it was all some sort of... Happy accident. Which is a lot more work, honestly," he added ironically.

"Why me?" Clara asked. She had a weird sense of deja vu for a moment, as if they'd had this conversation before. But it was gone again as quickly as it had come.

"Lots of reasons," he answered thoughtfully. "Because you're just _right_." His gaze lingered on her for a moment with a soft smile before he looked away. "And because of some things I know about the future. And because everyone deserves a second chance."

Clara grinned slowly, realizing the Doctor _had _mentioned someone like this.

A nameless friend he brought up every once in a while, usually with a mix of humor and disgust. Often as part of an insult.

Clara knew the Doctor had other friends he traveled with in between his trips with her. She wasn't quite sure why he'd deliberately kept their paths from crossing but she was pretty sure she now knew the owner of the immaculate desk underneath the Console next to the Doctor's cluttered workbench.

Clara had wondered who this friend of the Doctor's was whom she had never met.

The Doctor wouldn't say much when she asked.

But there had been a couple of times the teacup on that desk had still been warm when she'd stepped into the TARDIS.

"You have a whole _plan_, don't you?" Clara asked, remembering the Doctor's remarks.

"I do, yes. Helping the Doctor doesn't begin and end with you, Clara Oswald," he said with gentle mockery. Then his tone changed. "You're going to have to forget most of this, by the way. At least for a little while."

"Really?" Clara asked, slightly annoyed.

"Non-negotiable, I'm afraid," he responded.

Clara squinted at him. "Well, in that case... _You_ are going to tell me _everything._"

"Oh, am I?" he asked, amused by her imperious tone.

"Non-negotiable," she told him cooly.

"Well..." he said, considering. "That's going to take a while. Is tomorrow a workday for you?"

She rolled her eyes slightly. "Friday so... Yes. School does usually happen on Fridays."

"You'll need the day off," he informed her.

"Oh, will I?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "How does this work, though? You must have your own TARDIS... Right?"

"I do, yes," he confirmed.

"So, you could just come back on the weekend," she said.

He looked at her, eyes sparkling, tempting. "You really want to wait an extra day though? I can get you tomorrow off."

She looked him up and down. She thought about all the things the Doctor could do, his disregard for authority and _Keep Out _signs. The way he always managed to get what he wanted. This man seemed to have taken it to the next level.

"Yeah, I bet you can..." Clara said, a smile sneaking onto her face.

He waited. "Your call," he said.

They both knew that she'd already decided.

"Ok," Clara said.

"Ok?" he grinned.

"Yeah, fine, do it," she said, giving in. She grabbed at his sleeve as he moved to get up from his chair, worry striking her though she couldn't place the reason. "Wait, will anyone get hurt?"

He gave her a condescending look. "To get you a day off from work? No," he scoffed. "How important do you think you are, exactly?"

"Shut up," Clara laughed, letting him go.

He flashed a smile at her. "Be right back."

He was gone for about five minutes. He returned looking smug, slipping back onto his barstool without a word.

"That's it?" Clara asked quietly. "Where did you go?"

"To talk to your headteacher," he answered casually, signalling the bartender for another drink.

"I'm supposed to just take your word for that?" Clara asked, wanting details. "I mean, this is my _job_ we're talking about."

"Of course not. Wait for it..." He pointed, vindicated as her phone rang.

Clara eyed the man next to her and picked up her phone. "Hello? Oh, Mr. Armitage, hello. Oh, really? Oh, well thank you, sir. Yes, I'll see you Monday. Yes sir, have a nice weekend." She hung up the phone. She'd watched her new friend smirking throughout the entire conversation. "How did you do that? What did you say to him?"

"What did he say to you?" he asked back.

"That I was an 'exemplary teacher' and 'deserved a day off,'" she said.

He nodded, satisfied. "That's what I said to him," he responded.

"So," she said, "you just go around telling people what to do... And they just _do_ whatever you say?"

"Most of the time, yes," he answered.

"Hypnosis?" she asked.

He looked at her, interested. "Yes. How did you know?"

"The Doctor does that," Clara told him, "once in a while."

"Does he?" the Master said delightedly. He saw Clara's puzzled look. "And where do you think he learned that from, hmm?" He grinned proudly and spread his arms. "Taught him everything he knows."

Clara imagined the two of them as children, teaching each other how to break the rules... Causing trouble. Driving everyone around them insane.

The Doctor as a child _alone_ was a mind-boggling thought.

But _two_ of them...?

Their poor teachers.

Clara shook her head, her brain swimming. "I have _so many_ questions..." Her new friend gave her an inviting look, seemingly happy to provide answers. "Was he _always_ like this?" she asked.

"Oh, no," the man said. There was a pause. Then he started to laugh. "No, he used to be much, _much _worse."

Clara blinked, laughing too. "That's difficult to imagine..."

He gave her an odd up-and-down glance. "You saw all his regenerations when you stepped into his timeline, you know he hasn't changed that much."

She was surprised. How much information did he have about her?

"You know about that?" she asked, feeling weirdly exposed all of a sudden.

"I know about a lot of things," he informed her smugly.

Clara found herself giving him her cover story. She wasn't really sure why... It was reflexive at this point. She'd had to live that lie for so long with the Doctor. "I don't remember all of that. And I never saw anything before he left Gallifrey." She remembered the exception. "Although, there was that one time..."

He smiled. It was a strangely fragile smile. "Yes, we should talk about that."

Clara didn't even doubt for a moment that they were talking about the same thing.

She couldn't imagine how he knew about her crossing accidentally into the Doctor's early timeline. But he clearly had his ways. "You know about that, too?"

He shrugged.

"Right, course you do. Where were you, when that happened?" she asked, remembering. "He was all alone."

It had torn her apart to leave him there in the dark.

He sighed, his eyes filling with shadows. "I hadn't met him yet." He saw Clara's questioning look. "I say brothers, but we were more brothers by choice than by birth."

She nodded. That made sense. "So he was adopted? By your family?"

He raised a contemptuous eyebrow. "They had very little to do with it."

"By _you_, then," she corrected herself. That was an adorable picture, a child adopting another child. "And you're the same age?"

"We were, at first... Not quite, anymore," he answered. "I took some detours. Although I'm catching up a bit now."

"He never talks about the past," Clara frowned. She loved having someone to share the Doctor with. She hadn't realized how much she needed that. "Not really."

"He's always been like that," the man said, understanding immediately. "He does talk about the past, you just have to know his special Doctor Code."

Clara laughed. Because he was _right_.

"So... He never talks about himself. And you never talk about anything _but_ yourself. Is that how this works, then?" It wasn't true, really. He'd talked about the Doctor at least as much as himself since they'd met.

But it was true enough. And she couldn't resist the chance to tease this arrogant man who was so much like the Doctor.

He didn't seem at all bothered by her conclusion, instead seeming interested in this new idea. "Huh... I hadn't thought of it that way."

"You know, you could have just knocked on my door and said _hello_ instead of creating a bogus school survey just to meet me." Any friend or family of the Doctor's was welcome as far as Clara was concerned.

He skated right past the real meaning of her statement, instead saying, "No, the survey was perfectly real."

Clara blinked. "You did an _actual_ school survey. Even though you made the whole thing up as an excuse to investigate me."

"Yeah, I just told you," he reminded her, "Coal Hill passed."

"_Why_?" Clara couldn't help asking.

If she had all of Time and Space to explore and a virtually unlimited life span, she certainly wouldn't spend her time doing an _actual_ government survey of a secondary school in London.

He had mind-control powers which he seemed a little too eager to use to solve even the smallest of problems. So… He had _chosen_ to fill out and submit kilometers of bureaucratic forms to the proper authorities?

Clara wasn't sure how to process that. It had taken a full month to clean up after the Doctor's two-day tenure as school caretaker.

He'd even somehow swapped around several of the closets. Not just their contents. The actual closets themselves.

The staff had adjusted. They hadn't had much choice.

Although Clara had to feel sorry for Atif… He seemed very confused when he returned to his normal caretaker duties. More by the traveling closets and other related chaos the Doctor had created than by thinking he had had three wives for a few days.

In short, the Doctor didn't really complete most things he started. And _certainly_ not in the way you would expect.

But this man seemed to take completing his self-assigned task as a matter of course. "I was there anyway," he shrugged. "And Coal Hill's a good school."

"Hey," Clara realized suddenly. "I don't even know your name... He's the Doctor, so what are you? The Inspector?"

"Ah, no," he said. He gave her a look out of the corners of his eyes, clearly delighted with himself. "I'm the Master."

Clara shook her head.

She knew the Doctor had chosen his own name. The Master had obviously done the same.

Even his name was a power play.

"Of course you are," she muttered. "Well, nice to meet you then, Master," she said with mock-formality.

Because they'd met days ago, because he'd come solely to see her, because they shared so much it was almost as if they'd already known each other for a very long time.

He understood the unspoken joke and responded in the same tone, shaking her outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Clara Oswald."

"You should probably just call me Clara at this point," she said, pretending to be very interested in her glass of wine, "seeing how much we have in common." She felt weirdly awkward all of a sudden.

"We do have a fair bit in common, don't we?" the Master said. Clara glanced up to see that he was looking at her closely. Almost puzzled.

"I'm going to have a lot more questions tomorrow, just so you're warned," Clara said to break the silence.

"I look forward to it," he said sincerely. He stood up, abruptly done with the conversation. "Come on, I'll give you a ride home," he said, nodding towards the door.

Clara felt an obligation to at least _pretend_ to argue. "I could just get a cab," she said unconvincingly.

"My way's quicker," he smirked.

"I drove my bike to work this morning," she remembered. Traveling with the Doctor, she had learned to think about these details. Because the Doctor _never_ would. And she'd inevitably be left with the cleanup either way.

The Master's response caught her off guard. "I'll get it back to you, don't worry," he said, unperturbed.

If the Doctor had said that, Clara would have expected to find her bike in pieces on her front steps with a cryptic apology note and some unworkable space vehicle as a replacement. But when the Master promised to get her bike back to her she actually _believed_ he would do what he said. Without quite so much mess.

"What do you say?" the Master coaxed. "No better way to travel."

That was true. It had been a long time since Clara had been inside a TARDIS.

A long year.

"Fine," she agreed. "But just because I want to see what your TARDIS looks like." She eyed his dark suit, his villain beard, his eyeliner. "Is it all dark and gothic and foreboding?"

"No!" he prickled. Then, "Maybe a little," he admitted.

"You really get into this whole image of yours, don't you?" Clara giggled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about..." he smirked.

Clara spent Thursday evening wracking her brain for anything she might know about the Master.

The Doctor had mentioned him by name once or twice... But there had always been too much going on at the time for Clara to ask any questions.

And, thinking about it now, she was certain that at least one of her splinter selves had known something about him...

Actually, she was pretty sure she'd been _briefed_ on the Master.

_UNIT._

It was UNIT.

She'd worked at UNIT in the 1970s and there had been some kind of... Seminar?

_Mind control... Extremely dangerous... Top Priority..._

Maybe calling Kate Stewart hadn't been such a crazy idea after all.

Clara was tempted to phone now and ask for details. UNIT very likely still had a file on him... But she suspected that might have some unintended consequences.

Well... She'd just have to do her own research, firsthand. He hardly seemed reluctant to talk.

On the contrary, so far, it had been difficult to _stop_ him talking...

And _extremely dangerous_ seemed like a bit of a stretch from what Clara had seen so far.

Clara settled into bed and dreamed of mustard-colored walls and military uniforms and paperwork and go-go boots.

* * *

Watch the beginning of IDark Water/I: there actually ARE two desks on the lower level, under the Console. One is clearly the Doctor's. The other CLEARLY isn't. :)


	10. Chapter 10: Friday

_Chapter 10: Friday Morning_

The next day, the Master showed up at Clara's door holding the now-obligatory two cups of coffee.

"Good morning, Miss Oswald," he greeted her.

He'd changed his suit, now wearing a black and red jacket: long, with a turned-up collar and dramatic layers of fabric.

A bit alien. Memorable. Stylish.

Very intentionally so.

The Master liked his clothes, it seemed.

The Doctor had always had an odd relationship with his wardrobe, almost treating it as a uniform at times. Clara wondered if the Master was the same.

Personally, Clara couldn't imagine limiting herself to a single look for... Well, even a week, really.

Clara's love of clothes had only ever been constrained by her budget. Then, one day, the TARDIS wardrobe room had come along and entirely spoiled her. An endless variety of beautiful clothes, too many to even wear in one lifetime...

How could she choose just _one_ style when there were so many to try out?

And after all, she'd been so many different people... It seemed a shame to start worrying about consistency now.

She'd kept some of her favorites from her adventures with the Doctor. The Medieval red dress she'd worn the day they'd met Robin Hood, the aubergine suit she'd borrowed from the TARDIS for a date with Danny and had ended up robbing a bank in.

Clara's love of fashion was one thing she and the Doctor had never seen eye to eye on. Aside from a pair of impractical shoes, he barely even noticed what she was wearing.

Which was sort of sweet... But also annoying.

Clara looked at the Master's suit and wondered if he realized the color palette he'd chosen was similar to the Doctor's current look, albeit with far more flourish.

Although red and black weren't generally typical Doctor colors... So maybe she was connecting those dots backwards?

Two thousand years in, there was probably no way to tell who was copying whom at this point.

Actually, there was a Doctor who had favored frills and drama and flair. The Master's look was a bit reminiscent of that. More practical but with no less flair.

_The Seventies again_, Clara thought.

Clearly, the UNIT years had been an important time for both the Doctor and the Master.

Clara's eyes lingered on the combat boots for a moment, the one piece he'd kept, the one piece which didn't fit...

Clara filed that mystery away for later.

"Good morning to you, Inspector," she replied as she looked him up and down, not bothering to mask her approval. She met his gaze and saw he _definitely_ noticed. They left that connection unspoken but he raised his head a bit more proudly.

Clara nodded towards the cups, curious. "What do you have this time, then? Coffee from Morocco, or Saudi Arabia, or the Moon or something?"

"Ah, no," he said, his tone becoming oddly reverent. "Today I brought something _really_ special. Try it."

Clara took the cup he held out to her. Sniffed it, took a sip. "Oh..." she said, looking up, slightly awed. "This might be the best of all of them..."

"I _know_," the Master cried out immediately. He seemed almost angry about it.

"Where did this come from?" Clara asked.

"Someone I know from way back," the Master said, shaking his head in frustration. "He just... _Happens_ to make the best coffee out there. I've tried to get him to teach me but it never comes out quite the same when I do it. He made this himself. I think he missed his calling, personally."

Clara tried to place the reference. It eluded her, but the coffee _did_ actually taste familiar...

Then Clara blinked, realizing the situation he'd just described. "So... You just dropped in on an old friend and got him to make coffee for me? That's..." She frowned, trying to think of another way to finish her sentence but there really was only one word that fit. "Nice."

He shrugged. "Old enemy, really."

Clara made a skeptical face. "You showed up at his house, unannounced, and asked him to make you coffee. And he _did_. Do you even know what the word 'enemy' means?"

The Master just snickered like a cartoon villain and walked through into her front room. Clara had to put a hand to her mouth to physically hold in her laughter. Because he was _hilarious_. She controlled herself with an effort and followed him.

He'd settled on her couch, in the corner seat closest to the door.

_Danny's spot._

Danny had always chosen the same seat, every time he had come over. Clara had taken it once, just to see what he might do. He'd tried to go with it, tried to be cool about it. But his uneasiness had grown rapidly and visibly until he'd finally asked to switch seats.

Clara had obliged... But wanted to know _why_.

Danny had explained that it was the spot where he could see both the door and the window without having his back to either. Strategically, it was the best position. That it was just something he had to do since the army. That he got anxious otherwise.

Clara had tried to understand, though she couldn't really relate.

All the lives she had lived and there were still corners of human experience which were hidden from her.

After Danny had died, Clara had found herself noticing room layouts, windows and exits, trying to see the world the way he had.

Danny had never been to this flat...

But Clara knew exactly where he would have sat if he had.

Now she saw the Master sitting in that same spot and had to wonder.: Did he have similar reasons?

The Doctor had fought in the Time War... Had the Master, too?

He _must_ have.

Suddenly, the combat boots made far too much sense.

"So," he said, breaking into her train of thought. "You have questions. Where would you like to start?"

"Hmm..." Clara considered, taking a seat opposite him, where the couch bent around. "Let's start with this plan of yours, to help the Doctor. I want _details_."

"I have details," he said with relish.

"What are you saving him _from_ exactly?" Clara asked.

The Master snorted, mildly disgusted. "From himself, this time."

"Uh oh," Clara sighed wearily. "What's he doing now?"

"Trying to die," the Master said judgmentally. "He won't regenerate."

"That's stupid, why won't he regenerate?" Clara demanded.

The Master nodded towards her with a significant look. "Because of _you, _actually."

Clara frowned. "Explain."

The Master took a deep breath and leaned forward a bit. "Alright, I'm going to tell you about your own future timeline now." He grimaced slightly. "You're not going to get upset, are you?"

Clara shrugged, eyes steady. "Depends how it ends."

He had to think about it. "It ends up alright, I think."

Clara took a moment. "You said I'm going to forget it all anyway, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, you knowing would change events and create another timeline, which would be problematic. You can remember later, if you'd like," he told her. He said it like he was offering her a gift.

Clara wondered who _wouldn't_ want to remember part of their own life.

"Yes, please," she said, keenly aware of how strange this discussion was. Though the Master seemed entirely comfortable with it. But then again, he wasn't the one who was going to forget this entire conversation. "And I can't promise I won't get upset because..." She just shook her head, using the gently firm tone she used to explain things to the Doctor. When he was listening, that is. "People don't work like that. But I do want to know."

"Ok, then," the Master said. "It's a long story," he warned her.

"So, start at the beginning," she suggested, settling into the cushions and pulling one of the pillows close.

"That's a long way back," the Master laughed.

"We've got all day," Clara pointed out.

"Alright then," the Master said. "Once upon a time, there was a man called the Doctor and a woman named Clara Oswald..."

The Master told Clara about how she had died.

He told her about how the Doctor had taken her out of time and how he had forgotten her.

He told her about what that had truly done to the Doctor's memories.

He told her about the colony ship and about Floor 507.

Clara listened intently. She could scarcely comprehend that it was a story about _her_. About something that was really going to happen. About things she would actually _do_.

And _soon_.

Regardless, it was one of the most gripping stories she'd ever heard. And the Master was a _very_ good storyteller.

Once the Master had finished the background, he started telling her about the Plan.

Clara smiled... It was a beautiful Plan.

It was kind and thoughtful and incredibly complex. And from the way the Master was talking, it would take _years_. Clara wondered how long he'd already spent working on this.

Clara looked up to see that it had gotten dark outside. She had sat listening to the Master's stories all day.

She was starving. She hadn't even noticed.

"It's so late," she said. "Are you hungry? We could order takeaway."

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked her.

"Hmm... Chinese?" she suggested.

"Authentic or avant garde?" He wanted _specifics_. Because of course he did.

Clara laughed. He had all of Time and Space to choose from and he wanted _her_ to pick? The Doctor did the same thing. She'd figured out long ago how to deal with that. "Tell you what, you pick."

She saw immediately that he already _had_. "I might know a place. Stay there, I'll be right back."

He walked out her front door.

Two minutes later, the Master's TARDIS appeared in Clara's living room.

It looked like a grandfather clock. The night before, it had been a tool shed.

It was so strange seeing a TARDIS that _didn't_ look like a police box...

Did he ever have trouble remembering what his timeship looked like?

It was the Master, so she supposed he didn't.

But the Doctor _certainly_ would.

The front of the clock opened and the Master poked his head out. "You should come in. It doesn't make sense to bring it all out."

Inside his dimly-lit TARDIS control room was a small table and two chairs. Clara stepped closer to look. The table was covered with an immaculately white tablecloth. She brushed her fingers over it. It felt _expensive_.

Nearby were multiple carts with covered trays. Some had firelight glowing underneath them, others were frosted at the edges with ice crystals.

It was at least ten different courses.

She turned back to the Master. He was watching her silently. "You know, we could have just gone to the restaurant instead of you _bringing_ the restaurant here." She was doing her best not to sound too impressed.

"We can't risk taking you out of your current timeline right now," he told her. "No reason we shouldn't enjoy a nice dinner though." He stepped forward to join her at the table, pulling out one of the chairs for her with a self-satisfied grin.

"You are _such_ a show-off," she muttered as she sat down. He snickered. "We?"

"What?" he asked, taking his own seat.

"You said '_we_ can't risk it.'" Somehow, this was more flattering than the dinner.

"Did I?" he asked distractedly. Then he just shrugged, like it was unimportant. "Well, you are part of the Plan, too."

"_Part of the Plan,_" Clara smirked. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

"Oh, now you're just fishing," he reprimanded her. "Are you this bad with the Doctor?"

"Are _you_?" she retorted.

"Yes," he grinned shamelessly. He pointed his chopsticks at her plate. "Eat your dinner."

They ate. The food was incredible. Clara didn't even know what most of it was but the Master was more than happy to explain.

They didn't talk about Plans, or Clara's job, or the future.

They didn't even talk about the Doctor.

They focused on the present, enjoying the dinner and each other's company.

When the last crumbs of dessert were gone, Clara thanked her new friend for dinner and got up to leave.

She stopped at the door, oddly reluctant to step back out into her own flat.

"Do you have to leave?" she asked without turning around.

"The Plan doesn't move forward if I don't," she heard him say from behind her. He sounded... _Something_. Resigned? Regretful?

"But..." she shook her head, biting her lip. "Do you have to leave _tonight_?"

"No..." Clara turned around. He wasn't smiling, exactly, but... He looked _happy_. "No, I don't."

Clara felt a big grin spreading over her face. "So... I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah, sounds good," the Master said, smiling back. "Sleep well, Clara."

"Good night."


	11. Chapter 11: Saturday

_Chapter 11: Saturday Morning_

Clara woke to the smell of coffee. There was a steaming mug sitting on her nightstand. She smiled and shook her head. She took her coffee and got ready for the day.

She came down into her front room to see the Master poking through her bookshelves.

He paused in his snooping as she appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Good morning!" he beamed.

Clara folded her arms, using the tone that generally worked on the Doctor when he had crossed a line. "_Boundaries_."

The Master frowned, like he was trying to place what she might be possibly be referring to.

"You came into my bedroom while I was asleep?" Clara reminded him.

He was simultaneously dismissive and confused. "Yes, to leave you coffee."

"People don't generally like it when you sneak into their bedrooms," Clara informed him.

The Master made a guilty face. He tried to hide it by carefully returning Clara's signed copy of _Persuasion_ back to its proper place on her shelf.

But Clara knew that tactic.

Clara had _used_ that tactic.

"What?" she asked sharply. "You're making a face. Why are you making a face?"

"Ah, that may not have been the first time..." the Master admitted hesitantly.

Clara closed her eyes to stop them from rolling. "How many other times?"

"Just once," he said, like that made it alright.

Clara frowned, thinking back and drawing a blank. "When was this?"

"Umm... A few days ago, probably, for you?" he estimated. "After we went to Rivoli."

"Wednesday," Clara specified.

"Sure," the Master shrugged, uninterested. He peered at her books again. "You _really_ like Robin Hood, don't you?"

Clara wasn't about to fall into that trap. "And why were you in my bedroom on Wednesday?" she demanded.

"I was checking something," he replied evasively.

"What does that mean?" Clara asked. "And why don't I remember this?" She glared at the Master. "What did you do to me?"

He let out a put-upon sigh and stepped away from her bookshelf to stand directly in front of her. "Hang on..."

Clara jerked her head away as he reached out towards her. She eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Just... Hold still for a second." Seeing she wasn't convinced, he added, "It's quicker than explaining everything a second time."

Clara agreed, reluctantly. "Fine, but... Be careful in there."

He smiled patronizingly. "I won't make a mess, I promise."

"Not what I was worried about..." Clara muttered as he wrapped his hands around her head.

Then, suddenly, Clara was somewhere else. Or rather, she was _nowhere_. All of her exterior senses had been shut down and she existed entirely within her own head.

The Master was there, too. He went into her memories, seemingly knowing his way around.

Clara wasn't sure how she felt about the implications of that...

The Master was precise and quick. He located the memory he was looking for and turned it over, like it was a photo that had been flipped face down.

Clara found herself back in her apartment then, blinking up at the Master. He was just standing there, watching her, his expression unreadable.

Clara frowned, closing her eyes as she remembered the night she'd woken to find the Master in her room.

"You made me forget..." she said. She shook her head, processing the new information.

The Master just waited, interested, detached.

"I thought that was a dream. That's so _weird_..." She was smiling despite herself as she felt her mind readjust internally. It was a strange feeling, trying to find her mental balance again.

She looked back at the Master. His expression had changed. He was staring at her closely now, like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve, a hint of a smile on his face.

"You told me a fairy tale about you and the Doctor," Clara said.

He seemed to snap back to the present. "You're a part of that story, too, you know," he reminded her.

"You were..." Clara closed her eyes, going over their conversation. "Checking to see if the Doctor still had a telepathic connection with me?"

"Yes," the Master confirmed. "Or, more accurately, checking to see how strong it was."

"What for?" Clara asked.

The Master took a deep breath and explained. "The Doctor won't come back unless we give him a _really_ good excuse. So..." He gestured towards Clara. "He's going to need to save you."

"Right, you said I was going to be the bait," Clara chuckled. The Master seemed surprised at her reaction. Something crossed his face again, something like delight. But Clara still had questions. "What are you planning to do, exactly?"

He cocked his head at her and crossed his arms. "There's a species of dream parasites that are capable of following telepathic connections across Space and Time," he said. But he was distracted as he explained, thinking about something else. His eyes lingered in her, still solving some unspoken riddle. "I'm going to use them to draw the Doctor back to you."

"Dream crabs," Clara recalled.

"Yeah!" the Master blinked. "You're very well-informed."

"I pay attention," Clara smirked, eyes twinkling. The Doctor didn't often say things more than once and information tended to come in handy when traveling in the TARDIS. "So how does that work, then?" she wondered aloud. "Hang on... They're parasites?" She gave the Master a stern look. "Tell me what they do."

He looked around shiftily. "Umm, they trap you in a dreamworld so they can... Digest your brain." He grimaced at her uncertainly, seemingly fearful of her response.

Clara stared at him. "I don't think I like this plan," she pronounced dryly.

He waved her off. "Oh, you'll be fine, I know what I'm doing."

"What do they look like?" Clara asked, worried about what she might be getting into.

The Master held up a forefinger and pulled out his laser screwdriver. "Here." He fiddled with the controls for a moment and then projected a hologram of a hideous gray lump of a monster.

"Urgh," Clara said, walking up to get a closer look, nose wrinkling in disgusted fascination. "And that thing... What? Crawls inside your head?"

"No," the Master corrected her informatively. "It's too big for that. It sits on your face."

Clara turned on him with an incredulous laugh. "You're going to put one of _those_ on my face. While I'm sleeping."

He smirked and turned off the hologram. "Well, technically, I'm going to put one of those on _the Doctor's _face and then the others should find you. Although, actually..." he realized. "Your way might be better. It leaves less to chance. Good idea," he congratulated her, switching off the hologram.

Clara sat down on the couch, unruffled. "Is this just how you operate then?"

"What do you mean?" the Master asked.

"Risk the Doctor's life and anyone else who happens to be nearby in order to save him?" she clarified.

"When I have to, yes," he responded, taking a seat as well.

Clara looked at him, considering, evaluating. He met her gaze with obvious bewilderment. "You'd better be _very_ careful," Clara said eventually.

"I will be," he said offhandedly.

Clara shook her head, needing more than that. "No. Promise me I won't die from your stupid plan."

"Fine," the Master said dutifully, rolling his eyes. "I promise. And it's a _good_ plan," he contradicted her. "Happy?"

"Hmm," Clara grumbled thoughtfully. "Not exactly but..." She nodded briskly. "Good enough."

"So..." the Master said pleasantly, settling into his seat. "What should we talk about today?"

"Today," Clara said with a direct look, "I have _questions._"

"About?" the Master inquired.

"About you," Clara said. "And the Doctor."

"Two of my favorite topics," the Master responded, rubbing his hands together.

"How did you meet?" Clara asked, scooting forward, eyes sparkling.

The Master smiled nostalgically. "At school. The first day of school for both of us."

"Time Lord school?" Clara said, finding the idea funny.

The Master shook his head at her laughter. "Yes, it's called the Academy."

"How old were you then?" Clara asked, imagining them both as children. It was a hilariously adorable picture.

"Eight, or the equivalent of eight," the Master estimated. "Time Lord-to-Human lifespan comparisons are tricky."

Clara leaned closer. "What did you talk about?"

"Ah, that's a funny story, actually," the Master said, raising his eyebrows, a strange sadness creeping into his expression. "We talked about a toy someone had given him."

Clara eyed him dubiously. Two kids talking about a toy? That was... Unexpectedly normal. "I know you two are _weird_ but... That's not that strange."

The Master gave her a deliberately steady look. "It was a little broken toy soldier."

Clara froze. "Wait... What?"

The Master stood and walked over to Clara, pulling something from his pocket. He held it out for her to see.

A toy soldier.

One which Clara had seen before.

The one she had given to Danny, though it hadn't been hers to give.

The one that had been returned to her by the man she had assumed was her own descendent... Hers and Danny's.

The one she had given to the Doctor before he was the Doctor. A toy to comfort a little boy crying in the night.

It was like seeing a ghost.

Clara's eyes went wide. She reached out to take the toy, cautiously, reverently. It was solid beneath her fingers, real.

She wondered how many years older it had become since the last time she had held it.

"I told you, Clara, you're a part of this story," the Master said quietly.

"That's..." Clara shook her head, covering her mouth as tears sprang into her eyes.

"Are you ok?" the Master asked. He put a hand on her shoulder. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture.

Clara blinked away the tears and looked up at him. "You talked about _this_ soldier," she said. "The day you _met_?"

"Yes," the Master said, pulling away, plunging both hands into his trouser pockets. "We had an argument about him..." He smiled fondly at the memory. "Sort of."

"But... That's insane," Clara said helplessly. It was more than insane. It was _incomprehensible_. "I _gave_ this to him."

"I know," the Master nodded. There was something in his gaze. He'd had time to get used to this idea but he clearly understood what this must mean to Clara.

Clara felt like the whole world had turned upside down around her.

She stared at the soldier. She'd wondered what had happened to it but had never expected to actually find out. "I was only trying to help..." she said.

"You _did _help," the Master told her earnestly. "Those things you said to him that night, they became a part of him."

"I had no idea..." Clara said, handing the relic back to him carefully. "Wait, so why do _you_ have it?"

The Master returned to his spot on the couch, turning the toy over thoughtfully in his hands. "He gave it to me, the day he left Gallifrey. Well, the day we both left."

Clara's eyes got even wider. "I didn't know..."

The Master looked up, still, vulnerable. "The Doctor doesn't even know. He knew some of it but now..." He frowned unhappily, staring at the soldier.

"And you kept it for all these years," Clara said to herself. It had started as such a small interaction, a spur-of-the-moment impulse to help a scared child. "It's just a stupid little toy soldier."

"No. It's _not_," the Master broke in emphatically. "It's _important_." He gave her an intensely serious look. Dark and dangerous. "I try not to lose the things that are important."

Clara shook her head and changed the subject slightly. She felt that neither of them were prepared to discuss this any further. "How old were you two, when you left Gallifrey?"

The Master frowned, taken aback. "Why?"

"Just curious," Clara replied honestly. Not everything had to be about an agenda. "I told you I'd have questions."

"About two-hundred and fifty, give or take," he told her, slipping the soldier back into his jacket pocket.

"I know the Doctor had a family..." Clara said. Aside from Susan, she hadn't met them... She wished she could have. But it made her wonder about the Master's past. "Did you?"

He looked at her with a thoughtful stare. "No... How did you know that?"

She turned away, already regretting what she was about to reveal. "I stepped into the Doctor's timeline, remember?" She glanced back at the Master guiltily.

Weirdly, he was smiling. "You said you didn't retain all of that."

"Yeah..." Clara grimaced. "I lied."

"That's sort of a habit with you, isn't it?" the Master observed nonjudgmentally. He sat back, crossing his arms, thinking. "Hmm. The Doctor was under the impression that you'd forgotten most of his lifetimes."

"Yeah, I lied to him, too," Clara admitted. She couldn't keep the edge of bitterness out of her tone. It had made so much sense at the time... "He tends to push away the people who know too much, these days," she explained.

"So..." The Master was looking at her with something new in his expression. Like she was an equal. "You remember all of that."

She shrugged.

"You know just about everything there is to know about the Doctor. Almost as much as me, maybe." The thought seemed to make him happy.

"Well, I never remember it all at once," Clara qualified, "just bits and pieces." Now that she had admitted it, the words tumbled out eagerly. It was sort of nice to have someone to talk to about this, although it was difficult to describe trying to access years of information which had been dumped into your head in a single instant. "It's not really in any kind of order, just a jumble of information. I can remember the big things but the details are less reliable... It sort of comes and goes," she concluded, giving up. She gave the Master a look. "I don't remember seeing you, though... How come I never saw you?"

"I don't know," he responded honestly. "That's an interesting question."

Clara thought about the lives she had spent being at the right place at the right time, just to save the Doctor. Maybe she had finally found someone who could relate to that a little. "So do you do this all the time? Saving the Doctor?"

"No," he admitted, "but it does come up every now and then."

Clara smiled at the poetry of the idea that occurred to her. "It's almost like we've been switching off in a way and never even knew it."

The Master chuckled. "That's a rather grandiose assumption." He was still watching her, closely. Like she was passing some series of tests.

Clara wondered what he was looking for...

And how she was doing.

"I just said that's what it seems like," she smirked coyly, unwilling to take it back.

He paused for a moment, letting out a pleased chuckle.

It seemed whatever that test was, she had passed it with flying colors.

"You might be right, in a way," the Master conceded, serious again. "The Intelligence targeted weak points in the Doctor's timestream, right?"

Clara thought back. "Makes sense, from what I remember, yes."

"If he had someone there to protect him, it wouldn't be a weak point now, would it?" the Master continued.

Clara realized what he was saying. "Someone like you?"

"There are others but..." He grinned. "Yes, I'd be a good example."

"Grandiose," Clara teased.

"Just honest," he returned.

Clara recalled the faces of the Doctor's friends, the people she had seen in passing in her journeys through the Doctor's life.

"So Kilt Boy and... The Soldier One. Ooh! And the..." she gestured, trying to recall specifics. "The woman with the _hair_! River!" she said, pointing triumphantly. "I actually met her."

The Master stared at her display with obvious amusement. "You should learn people's names," was all he said.

Clara shrugged. She'd never been very good with names. And he clearly knew who she meant. "I told you, it comes and goes," she said, unconcerned. Her tone became serious again. "But they were _important_, right? They protected the Doctor, no matter what."

The Master nodded, acknowledging her point.

"We're like a team," Clara declared proudly. "Team Doctor!"

The Master squinted at her. "I don't really do teams."

"Not even for the Doctor?" Clara smirked, already knowing the answer.

"Well..." he sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "Sometimes for the Doctor, yes. He has a way of making you break all your own rules," he added.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Clara responded.

"It's _annoying_, isn't it?" the Master said, leaning forward animatedly.

"_So _annoying..." Clara agreed, nodding emphatically.

"He's so _annoying_," the Master mused.

They both sat for a moment, thinking about the Doctor.

"Wouldn't give him up for the world, though," Clara said eventually.

The Master shot her a sideways smile. "Not for the entire Universe, no."

"It really would be a pretty terrible place without him, wouldn't it?" Clara pointed out.

The Master shook his head. "I shudder to think." He changed the subject back to Clara. "So, you saw all of his faces, up until this most recent one?"

"Yeah," Clara said, thinking back. "That was weird." She continued in response to the Master's questioning look. "I thought I'd seen all of him, since he was on his last regeneration... Wasn't expecting a surprise like that."

The Master grinned slowly. "You freaked out, didn't you?"

Clara was slightly insulted by his tone. "I didn't 'freak out,'" she said.

He gave her a look, eyebrows raised knowingly.

"Ok, fine, maybe freaked out _a little_," Clara conceded. "It was _weird_, though. He was so different!"

The Master looked away, then back again. "_Was _he, though?"

Clara thought back and smiled nostalgically. "Guess not, not really."

"You humans are always acting like he's a different person every time he regenerates. He's not. He's still just _the Doctor_." He looked at Clara earnestly. "You of all people should have understood that."

"But that just made it _stranger_," Clara protested.

She paused. The Master gestured for her to go on, patiently waiting while she collected her thoughts.

She'd never had to explain this to anyone, never even had the opportunity. She'd spent so much effort trying to pretend she was just like any other human girl. She'd even fooled the great Madame Vastra so thoroughly that she'd had to backtrack to prove she was even a proper companion.

She felt pretty good about that.

"Cause I saw all of him in a _second_," Clara explained. "And I _knew_ they were him. I never had to get to know one of his new faces. I never had to lose the Doctor I knew." She smiled sadly, remembering the Doctor she'd first met with his floppy hair and his childlike enthusiasm and his ancient eyes.

The Master scoffed. "That's a very human way of looking at it."

"Yeah..." Clara said, gesturing at herself. "Human. Did you want an apology?"

"No, thanks" he declined coolly. "Just an observation."

"So, what's the Time Lord way of looking at it, then?" Clara asked curiously.

The Master shrugged. "It's just the price of keeping the Doctor around. He _changes_. He doesn't hold still. He _can't_. You can adjust and move forward with him or you can choose to get left behind. And then you lose him for real."

"Suppose that's true," Clara agreed. "I just wasn't expecting that... I thought I'd have more time. It all happened so fast."

In the span of a few hours on Christmas Day, she'd seen the Doctor run through the last few hundred years of his final life. And then, just when she had nearly given up, everything had turned around and it had all worked out.

And suddenly, she'd found herself faced with a new challenge, a new Doctor.

And even for the Doctor, he had been _difficult_.

She thought about the alternative, the Doctor dying with no more regenerations left... How horrifying that prospect had been.

"Grateful though, obviously," she mused.

"You're welcome," the Master said.

"Wait..." Clara realized. "That was _you_?"

He was even more smug than usual. "With a little help, yes."

"That was me, at the Crack!" Clara cried out. "I begged for someone to help him... I wasn't even sure anyone would be listening."

"Oh, that was _you_!" the Master said, pointing. He shook his head. "I really should have guessed that."

They look at each other for a few moments, self-congratulatory.

"We saved the Doctor," Clara twinkled at the Master.

"We saved the Doctor," he smiled back.

They high fived across the couch.

"So why were you on Gallifrey?" Clara asked.

The Master rolled his eyes, immediately disgusted at the mention of his homeworld. "Long story but... They'd locked me up. I got out because someone needed my help to save the Doctor. Also, someone to blame." He grinned like this was a badge of honor. "I'm useful that way."

"Oh, well then..." Clara said coyly. "Seems like you owe me."

"Oh?" the Master said, playing along. "And how's that?"

"I got you out of Time Lord prison," Clara shrugged nonchalantly. "You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me."

"Hmm." The Master considered this, eyes sparkling. "Assuming I _do_ give you the credit for that... How are you expecting me to pay you back?"

It was an innocent enough question.

Clara's answer was anything but innocent.

"I'll think of something," she said significantly.

The Master didn't seem to catch the hint.

"_You might as well flirt with a mountain range,_" Madame Vastra had said of the Doctor, thinking Clara was one of his infatuated groupies in need of a harsh reality check.

That had been a problem in the recent past, Clara knew. A particular Doctor in a tight suit had attracted girlish fantasy like overripe fruit attracts flies.

But Clara _knew_ the Doctor, though she had hidden this fact from Vastra… And indeed everyone else.

Clara had a tendency to flirt. She liked the excitement and she liked how it threw people off their game.

And Clara got jealous. She'd seen all of the Doctor's lives, had saved him a million times over. She _knew_ she was special. But there had been times when she worried he had forgotten that.

She knew it was petty, to want to be the most important person in his life, in any of his lives...

But Clara wasn't perfect.

She was getting better, though.

Because he _deserved_ better. Because Clara loved the Doctor. For who he was, with all her heart.

But Clara had no illusions about what a nightmare he would be as a boyfriend.

Or as a _husband_.

River Song was a very brave woman.

Looking at the Master, Clara thought of Vastra's words: memorable, oversimplified, designed to lodge in your brain and stick there.

There was a truth to them, certainly. The Doctor wasn't looking for a girlfriend. He was doing what the Doctor does: travelling the Universe, meeting new friends and saving planets. Making children smile.

He'd been doing it for two millennia.

It was tempting, as times, to cast him as the dashing, romantic hero. To try to make him fill a more cliched and easily-comprehensible role.

But Clara had consciously resisted stepping into that emotional quicksand. Because misinterpreting his respect and care and kindness towards others as romance did him a severe disservice.

However, what Vastra had said wasn't really the whole truth, either...

The Doctor wasn't a mountain range. Some ageless, unfeeling feature of an awe-inspiring landscape.

He was a _person_.

He'd loved. He'd felt loss. He'd had children once, been a father and a grandfather.

He'd married River, not long ago.

Flirting with the Doctor was unfair because it took advantage of his good nature. Hardly similar to crags of earth and stone.

Maybe Vastra was just... _Wrong_.

After all, who had made her an authority on any of this? Vastra, who had married a human.

And what of the Master? Was he a _mountain range_?

Clara didn't think so. Not if the way he'd been looking at her was any indication.

But after all, if he was... What harm did a little flirtation ever do to a mountain range?

And flirting with the Master didn't feel like taking advantage the way it always had with the Doctor.

However, like the Doctor, he seemed to have a very selective comprehension of the events around him.

So Clara didn't push the issue.

"Why did the Doctor never introduce us?" she wondered. "He kept us from meeting on purpose, right?"

"Yeah. You'd call and he'd chase me out of the TARDIS in a panic," he chuckled reminiscently.

"Why, though?" Clara reiterated. "I mean, I asked him, obviously."

"Obviously," the Master agreed matter-of-factly. "And?"

"He'd never say," Clara frowned.

The Master shook his head. "Yeah, he wouldn't tell me either. I just assumed he didn't want to share. Sort of see why, now..."

There it was again… That look. That distant half-smile.

_Definitely_ not a mountain range.

"Maybe he was worried we'd be _too_ awesome," Clara suggested with a laugh.

The Master grinned. "Maybe he was just afraid of being outnumbered," he countered.

Clara giggled delightedly. "Can you imagine? He wouldn't stand a _chance_."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," the Master grinned.

They talked about the Doctor for the rest of the day. All his lives, all his friends, all his eccentricities.

The day wasn't long enough to cover it all.

The Master brought dinner and Clara fell asleep on the couch. She woke in the middle of the night to see the Master fiddling with some small piece of machinery and watching a Disney movie with the sound turned low.

She watched him in the shifting light of the television set, wondering what he was thinking about. Wondering if he was as lonely as he seemed.

They'd spent two days talking and somehow he'd told her so very little about himself.

"Are you still leaving tomorrow?" Clara asked quietly.

He glanced in her direction. "Not if you don't want me to," he replied.

Clara thought about all the questions she still had. She thought about forgetting that they'd ever met. And she thought about being alone again. There was a weird ache in her throat.

"I don't," she said.

"Then I'll stay," he promised.

"Just one more day..." Clara bargained with herself. "Then I have to get back to my real life."

"Real life?" the Master repeated. "What do you suppose _this_ is then, if it's not real?"

"This is..." Her eyes traveled to the television screen. A girl in a blue dress, singing about an enchanted prince in a book. "... A story."

The Master snorted a laugh. "You should go to bed," he told her.

"Yeah..." Clara sighed. "You're right." She was reluctant to let him out of her sight, afraid he'd vanish without a trace as soon as she turned away. But he'd said he would stay... "See you in the morning then."

"See you in the morning," he responded, going back to his device.

Clara turned as she reached the stairs. "Stay out of my bedroom," she ordered. He acquiesced with a humoring nod. Clara pointed at the screen. "Enjoy your cartoons."

"Goodnight, Clara," the Master said firmly.

Clara went to bed.

One more day...

Just one more day to figure out everything she still wanted to know about the Master.

It was quite a challenge...

Clara loved a challenge.


	12. Chapter 12: Sunday

_Chapter 12: Sunday_

Sunday morning, Clara again woke to the smell of coffee. Thankfully coming from _outside_ of her room, this time.

She walked out in her dressing gown, hair a mess, the pull of the coffee too strong to resist.

The Master had set up a complicated contraption on her counter. It was bizarre-looking but the coffee it had produced smelled _fantastic._

"What is that?" Clara asked, staring at it.

"Good morning!" the Master said cheerily. "Sleep well?"

"Alright, I guess..." Clara said. It had been a restless night for her as the pressure of the impending end of their week together loomed. She was stressed and felt like she was missing something again.

And the Master's enthusiasm first thing in the morning really was a bit much.

She wished he had an _Off_ switch. Or at least a _Mute_ button.

He poured her coffee out of the insane brewer. "I would have brought it to you but... You told me not to, so..." He made a long-suffering face.

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Your restraint is truly heroic..." she said dryly. She took a sip of her coffee and shook her head in admiration. "This is _really_ good." She shouldn't have been surprised at this point.

"You think so?" he said brightly. "It's my own invention."

Clara eyed the Rube Goldberg machine sitting on her counter. "I can tell," she muttered into her coffee mug.

"What?" the Master blinked.

"Nothing," Clara said sweetly.

"So, what do you want to talk about today?" he asked, clapping his hands together eagerly.

Clara stared at him, deadpan. She needed the caffeine to hit her system before she could deal with his high-maintenance company. "Coffee first," she pronounced. "And shower."

He frowned impatiently and opened his mouth to argue.

She pointed one finger at him, right in his face. "Shut up," she ordered. She moved her finger to the couch. "Wait."

The Master's eyebrows shot up in surprise. And then he just started to laugh. "Ok..." he said.

Clara glared at him, hugging her coffee cup as she turned away. She looked back and nodded towards the couch when she saw he hadn't moved. "Not kidding," she told him.

He hopped across the room to the couch and sat down, giving her a mockingly serious frown.

Clara allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Ordering Time Lords around really never became less fun... She went back upstairs to shower and get ready for the challenge ahead.

"Alright," Clara announced as she reached the foot of the stairs.

The Master made a show of closing the book he was reading, one of Clara's collection of Andrew Lang's Fairy Books. "Am I allowed to speak now?" he asked amusedly.

Clara was tempted to say _no_, just to see what might happen. But instead she took the more mature route. "Human beings generally need a little space in the morning," she informed him.

"You have _a lot_ of rules..." the Master said judgmentally. "Is there somewhere they're all written down, by any chance?"

"No," Clara said flatly, recognizing the trap in that question. "And today I want to talk about _you_."

His face went still and he looked away. "Me?"

"Yes," Clara said. "I want to know all about _the Master_." She made a small, theatrical gesture with her hands because it seemed appropriate to his larger-than-life persona.

"No..." he said, shaking his head and moving to return the book to its spot on the shelf. "You don't."

"I do," Clara countered. "Come on. Tell me about yourself."

He turned around, arms behind his back, the couch acting as a barrier between them. "I don't think that's a good idea," he told her.

"Why not?" Clara demanded.

"I'm not... A good person," he responded.

Clara wasn't about to be put off so easily. "I didn't ask to hear about a 'good person'. What does that mean anyway," she frowned. "You're _not a good person_?"

"It means..." he sighed, crossing his arms "I've killed _a lot_ of people." He looked her dead in the eye and there was something unreadable there.

Clara met his gaze unflinchingly. "How many is _a lot_?"

He shook his head. "The number isn't going to make you feel any better."

"Ok..." Clara bit her lip, trying to figure out where to take this conversation next. "Does the Doctor know this?" she asked.

The Master made a face. "Oh, yes."

"And he's still your friend?" Clara pointed out.

"Yes," the Master said, clearly unhappy to be discussing this.

"So, why can't _I_ still be your friend, too?" Clara asked him.

He smiled slightly, almost confused. "Are we friends?"

Clara scoffed, surprised that he even had to ask. "If we aren't... It's a little weird that you're sleeping over and making me coffee."

The Master's eyes slid towards his TARDIS. "I should go..." he said.

Clara shook her head and positioned herself in between him and his escape route. "You promised you wouldn't," she reminded him. "You _said_ you'd answer my questions."

"People get... Upset when I talk about this," he said with what seemed like weariness. "And then they try to _fix_ me." He glared at Clara, rage burning deep behind his eyes. "I don't want to be _fixed._"

That was fair. No one wanted to be fixed, to be a project instead of a person. "So what if I promise not to try and fix you?" she asked him sincerely.

He just looked at her, dubious, suspicious.

Clara started to understand the reason why he was always alone.

He needed an out, needed to feel in control again. But he _wanted_ to tell her, she could feel it, see it in his eyes. It was like he was begging her to find a loophole, a solution, a way out of the corner he'd backed himself into with his own rules.

Oddly, Clara could relate completely.

"Hey, you're going to wipe my memory anyway, right?" she said, smiling reassuringly. "Just tell me a story," she pleaded.

He sighed.

"Pick one with only a _little_ murder, maybe," she said.

"But we were having fun," he said sadly. He frowned at Clara. "I don't want you to get upset."

Clara closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hide her reaction to that surprisingly sweet sentiment. "Ok, just... Tell me this," she said, her tone as unemotional as she could manage. "Have you murdered anyone _today?_"

"No," he said simply.

Clara eyed him seriously. "Are you going to murder anyone tomorrow?"

He gave her a dark look. "I don't know yet," he said noncommittally.

Clara raised her eyebrows and made a face. "Are you going to murder _me_?"

"Of course not!" the Master said, honestly horrified.

"Ok then, so how about this," Clara proposed. "You tell me a story and we'll both just... _Pretend_ it's not about you."

He sighed and rubbed a hand against his forehead. "This is a very bad idea..." he said.

And Clara knew that she had won.

"So let me just have a bad idea then," she said, sitting down. "You're the one who's going to put a dream crab on my face. I should get the chance to have a bad idea, too."

"Fine..." he said, eyes narrowed as he assessed her. "But stop me when you've heard enough."

"Cross my heart," Clara promised, knowing full well there was no way she would stop him.

The Master sat in his spot on Clara's couch and started to tell his story.

He told her about the Year That Never Was.

He told her about being insane.

He told her about the Time War.

He told her about Floor 1056.

He told her about the bodies he'd stolen.

Eventually he just seemed to forget that Clara was in the room at all. It was as if a floodgate had opened. He kept talking and Clara just listened.

He had killed... _So many people_.

Centuries and centuries of murder.

Clara almost couldn't process that the thoughtful, funny, lonely man she'd gotten to know in the last week was the same one in the stories he was telling her now.

She thought about the Doctor, about the side of himself that he hid from the world. The side that was _angry_. The side that occasionally had to be reminded that the ends didn't justify the means, had to be pulled back from the edge.

She thought about how deeply he cared for his friends, how far he'd go to save them.

They were like reverse images of each other. Each clinging to an opposite side of their personality while trying to suppress the other.

She could see how they had become friends. Why they were _still_ friends despite everything.

They were too much alike not to be.

The Doctor had known this man since they were both children. He must have thought they were _exactly_ the same, once upon a time. Then they'd taken different paths but he'd still known the Master before he'd ever killed another person, back when they both had their whole lives ahead of them.

The Doctor had said something just like that, Clara recalled. She had thought at the time he was talking about Missy but… With everything she knew now...

Two thousand years of friendship... It was unimaginable.

They must know just about everything there was to know about each other.

Despite all the horrors the Master was describing, all the pain he had inflicted on others, the Doctor just couldn't let him go...

Clara understood why.

Because he was more than that. More than what he tried to be.

And weirdly, as the Master continued his odyssey of crimes and murders, Clara found that she began to appreciate the Doctor in a new light. His strengths and weaknesses, his temptations, the choices he had made and continued to make every day.

They provided context for each other. Understanding one of them helped you to understand the other.

Clara almost felt that she'd been missing half the picture, all along.

Then she thought about how the Doctor must feel about all the death the Master had been responsible for... Entire planets dying in pain.

And suddenly she felt so sad for both of them.

She remembered something else the Doctor had said to her once, after she had tried to force him to break the Laws of Time to bring Danny back from the dead. She had been crazed with grief, had used the Doctor's friendship, lied to him, done everything she could to manipulate him into giving her what she wanted.

She had deserved _nothing_.

And the Doctor hadn't even hesitated to help her.

_"Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"_ he had said then.

And Clara now realized that he hadn't only been thinking of her as he'd said that.

The Doctor's love was unconditional. His friendship wasn't based on merit. It was utterly unselfish. It _had_ to be. Because his first friend, his adoptive brother should have been his worst enemy.

Except that he _couldn't_ be.

Because they cared about each other far too much for that.

The Master didn't deserve the Doctor. Clara suspected they both knew that.

But maybe no one deserved anything, really.

Maybe love wasn't really about that at all.

So she listened quietly, patiently, while the Master talked.

And eventually, she _did_ have to stop him. But only because it was getting late.

She uncurled herself from her place on the couch and crossed the room to kneel in front of him. He was talking about Autons, about Earth, about plastic and radio signals.

It was like he didn't even see her.

She put both her hands into his. "Hey," she said.

He seemed to come back from a long way away.

"Dinner?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. Then he smiled, back in the present. "Sure. I'll find us something nice."

They ate dinner.

Clara went to bed.

And as soon as she turned out the light, it all hit her.

Clara started crying and she couldn't stop.

She heard the door to her bedroom crack open. "Can I come in?" the Master asked.

"Yeah," Clara answered, choking back a sob. "Sure."

He came to stand next to her bed, looking down at her with a troubled frown. "See, this is why I didn't want to tell you any of that. You really should have stopped me," he said reproachfully.

"Sorry, I thought I was ok but..." She shook her head. "Anyway, it seemed like you needed to talk about it."

"But now you're _upset_," the Master said. His tone was critical, angry. As if he was blaming her for her tears.

Clara realized he probably _was_.

"Yeah..." she confirmed. "Yeah, I am." She looked up at him, wiping the tears away with her sleeve. A futile gesture since more immediately sprang up to take their place. "How does it not bother you?" she had to ask. "All those people you killed?"

It was like he withdrew from her. "Are you going to try to fix me now?"

Clara hurried to correct him. "No, I'm just... Trying to understand."

He hesitated but the cynicism vanished. "They were... No one," he explained seriously. "They didn't matter."

Clara closed her eyes. Remembering Danny. Remembering her mother. Remembering Mrs. Maitland. How those losses had devastated her and everyone else around them. "They mattered to _someone_. Everyone matters to someone."

He just shrugged. There was a wall between her emotions and his forced detachment. A wall he'd purposefully constructed. "They would have died anyway, soon. You humans have such short lifespans."

And that's when Clara started to get angry.

She held it back, trying to continue the conversation as he tried to push her away. Clara wondered for the first time how the Doctor dealt with this...

Did they even talk about it?

Regardless, Clara had things to say and wasn't about to drop the subject.

"No, don't say that," she said. "That has nothing to do with anything. And you _know_ it." His eyes slid away from her stare. "You killed Time Lords too, and all kinds of other species..." She raised her eyes to the ceiling as she remembered a whole other level of horror. "Those people whose bodies you stole. How do you live with that? How do you not end up... Like _this_?" She gestured at herself, indicating the state she was in.

He seemed to have shrunk, standing there in the dark. "It's hard to explain," he said quietly.

"_Try_," Clara ordered. Because she was done with his excuses.

He closed his eyes and sighed wearily. "We make choices. Those choices take us in a certain direction, they lead us down a path. And that path takes us deep into the unknown. Most people only go a little ways down their path. They stop in their tracks, refuse to go on. Or they run back to where they came from, back to the safety and the sunlight and the things that they know. I keep _going_." He stared at Clara through the darkness. She could sense a hunger, a fire. "I want to see where the path leads me. I want to see what's at the _end_. No matter what it takes."

"So all those people were just sort of... In your way?" Clara asked, trying to hide the dismay filling the pit of her stomach.

"Not literally, but..." He shrugged. As if _everyone_ knew this, deep down. "That's what life is, right? It's a series of challenges. You can rise to the challenge or you can back down. I don't back down." He said it with pride.

Clara shook her head helplessly. "That's not what life is."

He cocked his head at her. She could hear the sneer in his voice. "And you would know that from what, your vast experience of twenty years?"

"Don't lecture me while I'm crying," Clara reprimanded him softly.

"Sorry..." he said, his tone changing. "I just... I don't like to see you sad."

Clara shook her head. All the tears he'd caused in his centuries of murder but he didn't seem to have any concept of one woman crying in her bedroom. "Yeah, well... That's just what happens sometimes. People get sad."

"But you don't _have _to be sad," he told her. "I can fix that for you."

Clara glared at him, appalled as she realized what he meant. "Don't you _dare_," she said ferociously.

He spread his hands, apparently shocked at her response. "What? I'm trying to _help_."

"_No_," Clara said.

"You _want_ to be sad?" the Master asked judgmentally.

Clara wondered if he thought most people got a choice. If _he_ got a choice... Or thought he did. If he understood emotions at all.

"Someone should be sad for them..." she tried to explain. "It's just _right_."

He scoffed. "Right _how_?" he asked. His tone was like a confused child. Angry because the other person couldn't understand what _he_ was saying. "It accomplishes _nothing_. It doesn't help them. They'll never even _know_. It only hurts you and you're -"

He stopped.

"What?" Clara prodded. "I'm what?"

His response was quiet. Like he was ashamed to even say it. "You're more important than any of them ever were."

And that's when Clara saw red.

Because who was he to decide who mattered and who didn't? Who lived and who died? That she mattered just because _he_ said so?

The arrogance of it was inconceivable.

"I'm _not_," Clara said. She didn't even try to curb the rage in her tone.

The Master blinked, totally baffled by her response. "Why are you angry now?"

"Because that's a _horrible_ thing to say," she told him vehemently. "And what about you? Are _you_ more important than me?"

"You want a real answer?" he asked. His tone assumed she wouldn't and judged her preemptively.

And that would have been so easy: to back down, to give up, to write him off.

He'd set up a situation where that was the obvious course of action.

But Clara wasn't going to play into his twisted worldview.

Clara made her own choices.

"Please," she replied haughtily.

"Yes, probably," he informed her, deliberately offhanded. "Just being honest," he added. As if that was any justification.

"And the Doctor?" Clara asked incisively. Because that was the chink in his armor. The one outlier in his perfect, simplistic, fully-explained Universe.

The Master didn't answer.

"Well?" Clara demanded.

"No one is more important than the Doctor," he said quietly.

Clara sighed, anger turning to exhaustion. "Well, at least we agree on that, then."

The Master jumped to point out her hypocrisy. "See, how can you say that everyone matters the same amount? You _know_ the Doctor is more important."

"Well... I guess he's just the exception then," Clara said.

"Isn't he always..." the Master muttered. He looked at Clara then, unsure. "Do you want me to go?"

Weirdly, she didn't. "Not yet. I don't really want to be alone right now."

"Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?" he offered. And Clara would have sworn in that moment that he understood some of what she felt. That he had been afraid and alone.

Two thousand years, give or take... Maybe he had been.

She hoped the Doctor had been there for some of that.

Clara shook her head. "I don't think I can sleep. I'm afraid I'll have nightmares."

"You don't have to," the Master told her quietly.

Clara threw up her hands, exasperated. Was that his solution to every problem? Did he truly think he had the power to avoid _all_ consequences?

"I don't want you to _fix_ anything!" she almost shouted.

Now he was angry, too. "Ok, so what am I supposed to _do_ then?" he shouted back.

Clara couldn't believe she had to walk him through how to reassure her. For _his own _benefit, which was just absurd. But she'd had to have similar teaching moments with the Doctor, many times, so it wasn't exactly new territory. She swallowed her frustration. "What do you do, when everything gets to be just... Too much?"

He looked away.

Clara modified her question. "Ok, _besides_ killing people."

He gave Clara a sideways look. "I watch cartoons," he told her.

Clara dropped her head into her hands and just laughed. "Murder or cartoons," she said eventually. "Ok... Let's watch some cartoons then."

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah, really," Clara answered.

"Ok," he said brightly. He left.

Clara washed the tears off her face and grabbed her dressing gown.

When she got downstairs, the Master was messing with her television set.

Clara sat down, leaving the corner seat open for him.

He sat down next to her and turned on the television.

Clara snuggled up next to him. He seemed surprised but then put an arm around her shoulders.

They watched in silence for a while.

The cartoon wasn't quite what Clara had expected.

Winged monsters, humans committing genocide, betrayal and sorcery and advanced technology...

And so many Scottish people.

"_What_ is this...?" she asked finally.

"It's called _Gargoyles_," the Master told her, watching the cartoon closely. "It's an American show from the 1990s. It's _genius_, I've watched it like a hundred times."

Knowing the Master, she was willing to bet that was a very accurate estimate.

The cartoon played on but Clara wasn't really following it. She was consumed by one question. It ran through her head over and over until it finally found its way out of her mouth.

"Why do you kill people?" Clara asked quietly.

He didn't look at her. "I don't know, really..." he admitted. "It's been so long. It's just sort of who I am now."

"How long?" she asked, fearing the answer. Two millennia... But he'd been young once, just as everyone had. She thought about the little boy who had grown up into the Doctor, of children making friends on the first day of school... And she felt a chill like an icy breath on her soul. "How old were you the first time you killed someone?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "Ten, maybe eleven?"

Clara looked up at him, trying not to give away how shocked she was by this. He was staring straight ahead at the television.

And Clara's heart broke for the little boy he had been. Because she _knew_ why he had killed that first time.

"For the Doctor," she said.

"Yeah," he answered quietly. He wouldn't look at her.

Clara turned back to the television. "He doesn't know, does he?"

"No," the Master said, shaking his head. "And don't tell him. He'd take responsibility for it. The guilt would eat him alive."

He was right, of course. That would kill the Doctor.

Clara found tears falling down her face again. She was confused and sad. Nothing made sense to her in that moment. "I don't understand you..."

The Master turned to look down at her. "How so?"

He passed her a box of tissues as she searched for the words. "You're so cold, so cruel... To just about _everyone_. But then you do all this for the Doctor, and -"

"And what?" he asked, curious.

"And you've been so _nice_ to me..." She looked at him again through the tears. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He stared off into the distance contemplatively. "I don't know, really," he admitted. He gave her half a smile. "Would you rather I was mean instead?"

"No," she answered with a laugh that was more of a sob. "It's just... Very confusing."

"Yeah... The Universe can be a confusing place." He was looking at the screen again. Watching his monsters, his children's show. "You know, Clara... We label things so that we know what we're looking at. We define them for _ourselves_, for our own peace of mind. Not for them... They don't often benefit from the labels we give them." He smiled slightly. "And then of course there are always those few things that resist any attempts to define them."

Clara understood the last part. "Like the Doctor."

"Like the Doctor," he confirmed.

She had a question about the rest of it though. "What do you mean? Like what we call something can _make_ it that thing?"

"Sometimes..." he said. "But that's not quite what I meant."

"What, then?"

He answered her question with another question. "Do you know what makes a fairy tale a fairy tale, Clara?"

She thought about it. They didn't all have magic, or princesses... Many were filled with truly awful events. They were tragedy, they were horror, but then...

"I think... The ending," she concluded.

"No," the Master corrected her. "It's which character you are in the story."

She frowned. He was right, in a way. If a fairy tale was defined by the ending, then most of the characters were living a different type of story. Far from _Happily Ever After_, it was the story of the worst day of their lives... And sometimes the last.

A thought occurred to her. Because he must have taken this analogy all the way to its conclusion. "So then, which character are you?"

He shrugged. "Depends who you ask." He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. "We don't always get to choose which role we play, Clara."

She couldn't let that one stand. "I think we _do_," she told him.

He chuckled. "That's exactly what the Doctor would say."

"He'd be _right_," Clara said.

"He isn't always right," the Master reminded her.

* * *

Author's Note:

If you haven't watched iGargoyles/i (Disney, 1994, two seasons), I HIGHLY recommend it. Storytelling at its absolute finest.


	13. Chapter 13: Monday

_Chapter 13: Monday Morning_

Clara woke in her own bed to the sound of her alarm going off.

She did a quick mental check... Yep, still upset about murder.

That was a relief, oddly.

There was a knock on her door.

"Coffee?" the Master asked, poking his head in.

"Yes. _Please_." Clara sat up and reached for the mug he brought her.

"Careful..." he said as he sat on the edge of her bed and handed it to her.

She took a sip. It was exceptional, as always. She took a moment to savor it, then looked at the Master. "You put me to bed?" she asked.

"Is that ok?" he asked uncertainly. "I swear I didn't do anything else. You fell asleep on the couch. I just wanted you to be comfortable."

She smiled at him and nodded. "Yeah... That's ok. Thank you."

He stood up. "You should get ready, you'll be late for work." He seemed proud of himself for knowing this.

"Says the man with the time machine," Clara retorted, taking another sip of her coffee.

"_Real life_, remember?" he grinned.

"Yeah..." Clara said, trying to wrap her head around that idea. "Real life..."

Clara got ready for work. She came out into her front room to see that it was a little emptier than it had been the night before.

"You moved your TARDIS." It made her unhappier than she had expected. The Master didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, it's right outside," he said. Clara gave him a questioning look. "I had a couple of things to take care of last night after you fell asleep," he said evasively.

"What sort of things?" Clara asked pryingly.

"Maybe I'll tell you, someday," the Master smiled. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm and they started walking towards her parking spot.

They were crossing the street in front of her building when a car came speeding around the corner out of nowhere.

The Master pulled Clara back onto the curb. The adrenaline and flashbacks to Danny blinded her for a moment but when her vision cleared she saw that the Master had broken away and was staring after the departing vehicle, his eyes hard and focused.

Clara knew what that look meant.

She jumped forward to grab his arm.

"No," she said. "No, no, no... You're not going to kill him."

He looked down at her, unmoved. "You know what happens if you die. He could have ruined _everything_."

"Good thing you were here, then," Clara retorted. He looked confused for a moment. "I'm fine," Clara pointed out. "No harm done."

"Hmm," the Master said dubiously.

"Thanks for saving me," Clara said in her sweetest voice.

It really hadn't been that close but... The Master seemed to have seen things differently.

He relaxed. "You're welcome," he said.

But Clara still saw something in his eyes that made her pause. "Hang on... You're not going to go take his permit away or anything either."

His expression got sulky. "He's a _menace_. I'm trying to think about the bigger picture. He lives near here, doesn't he?"

Clara glanced away. She _had_ recognized the car. It was her neighbor's teenage son. The Master had deduced that incredibly quickly.

"I'm about to leave," the Master pointed out. "This could happen again tomorrow."

"It's fine, I'll be more careful," Clara promised.

The Master gave her a look, rightfully unconvinced.

"You're not taking away his driving privileges because I didn't look before crossing the street," Clara told him firmly.

"It wasn't _your_ fault," the Master scoffed. "At least let me go _talk_ to him..." he said sneakily.

Clara snorted. She wasn't about to fall for that one. "_Definitely_ not. No."

He sighed, annoyed but giving up. "Who put you in charge again?" he asked ruefully.

Clara laughed and took his arm. "I'm pretty sure you just did," she said.

He was giving her that puzzled look again.

"What?" Clara asked.

"You could have died," he said. "You're _going_ to die. Aren't you frightened?"

Clara shrugged. "Everyone dies sometime," she said resignedly.

The Master made a face, clearly displeased by this statement. "Right, ok, but... Don't you want to _stop_ it? You never even said."

Clara frowned. Her eyes flicked back up to her companion. He was still looking at her inquisitively. And she told him something else she'd never told anyone.

She'd lost track of how many times that had happened in the past few days.

"I've died before," she said quietly. "All those lives I lived... I've died hundreds of times already."

He was staring at her, aghast. It was several moments before he responded. "So now you're just... _Ok_ with it?" he spluttered.

"Of course not!" Clara said. "But... The best we can ever hope for in the end is a good death."

"And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?" the Master asked, looking vaguely disgusted.

"I think, for me..." Clara said, remembering Danny. "I'd want to be brave, at the end."

"I'm sure you will be." He was giving her an odd look.

"Were you there?" Clara suddenly thought to ask.

"No." He shook his head and averted his gaze to stare at the cracks in the pavement as they walked. "No, I wasn't."

For a moment, she wanted to ask him to be there by her side as she faced her final moments of life.

Then she thought about the Plan, about how the Doctor had asked for the same thing.

How the Master had chosen instead to help in his own way. Giving the Doctor what he needed while refusing him what he wanted.

If she asked… Would he say _yes_?

She suspected he might.

And then, looking at the man next to her, she realized what a selfish misuse of power that would be.

And anyway, that wasn't really what she wanted from him

"So... What's next on the Master's grand agenda?" Clara asked, changing the subject because he liked to talk about the Plan. "Off to find some dream crabs?"

"Probably, yes," he nodded, reengaging in the conversation.

"Christmas, you said?"

"Yep."

"Why Christmas, though?" Clara inquired. "You never explained."

"A lot of important things have happened to the Doctor on Christmas recently," the Master began.

Clara nodded, remembering the town called Christmas, the turkey she'd shared with her family before she'd disappeared in the middle of dinner and ended up in Glasgow.

That hadn't been easy to explain.

The Master went on. "He met you - one of you - in Victorian London on Christmas. He was very lost at the time. She - _you_ \- saved him."

"Ok..." That sounded vaguely familiar. She remembered falling... She remembered tears. "And?" There must be more. With the Master, there was always more.

"And," he said, pleased by her insight, "before that, a couple of regenerations back, he regenerated on Christmas. Actually that Doctor began _and_ ended on Christmas."

Clara squinted, trying to place the reference. "Which was that... The skinny suit Doctor?"

"Yes," the Master answered. "That was a very bad time for him." Clara saw a darkness in his eyes as he thought about it.

"Where were you, at the time?" Clara had to ask.

"Mostly crazy," he stated matter-of-factly. "Or dead."

"Your life is... _Confusing,_" Clara observed.

"You're telling me," the Master chuckled. "Anyway, he needed someone to hold him back, to ground him. More than usual, even. He got the exact opposite. He ended up with someone who wanted to change him into something else, something he can't be. It destroyed him, for a while."

Something clicked for Clara. "Wait, I think I saw her a couple times... The giggly, blonde, brat one?"

"Very accurate description," the Master agreed, shooting Clara an amused look. "Yes. Her name was Rose."

"Was?" Clara had to ask.

"I took care of that recently," the Master informed her.

"And by _took care of_, you mean...?" Clara inquired hesitantly.

He shook his head, chuckling slightly her discomfort. "No, I didn't kill her. I didn't have to. She had made other enemies by that point."

"So you want to try that again, to do it better?" Clara summed up for him. "You want to give the Doctor a better Christmas?" She had to smile. It was such a nice idea, this drive to give the Doctor a perfect Christmas.

She was surprised the Master even understood what Christmas was...

Actually, she was sort of surprised the Doctor understood Christmas either.

They'd both spent plenty of time on Earth but there were many, many other things neither of them had managed to pick up about Earth culture...

There was a story there.

And, aggravatingly enough, she hadn't even thought to ask until just now, when he was leaving.

Clara wondered how much time would be enough to hear the answers to all of her questions. Because the more she learned, the more she wanted to know.

"He deserves a second chance," the Master was explaining. "So do you," he smiled at her, warm and approving.

They had reached her parking spot. The Master's TARDIS was standing right next to her bike.

"And you?" Clara asked with a knowing look.

"Me?" he said, raising an eyebrow, pretending not to understand.

She smiled at him. "How many chances has the Doctor given you?"

"You're a very perceptive young woman, Clara Oswald, you know that?" He was looking at her like she was the only person in the world. It was thrilling, intoxicating... And Clara _loved_ it. "Yes, me too," the Master confirmed. "I may be trying to prove a larger point."

"Hmm, doesn't seem like you," Clara joked.

"Sarcasm?" the Master reproached her. "Really? You've spent too much time around the Doctor."

"Wait, so I'm a Christmas present for the Doctor then?" she realized with a laugh. "You're just going to what, wrap me up in a dream crab and _give_ me to him, like a new pair of socks?"

"That was the plan, yes," he smirked. "Problem with that?"

She thought about it and shrugged. "Guess not," she said lightly. "But have you considered getting a big shiny bow to put on the dream crab?" she suggested. "Make it more festive."

He chuckled. "Might give the game away a bit but... That's a very good idea."

"I'm full of good ideas," she responded. She knew she should get to work but... She was reluctant to end the conversation. "Hey," she wondered, "once I forget all of this, what will I think happened this weekend?"

"Whatever your normal weekend things are," the Master replied.

Clara put a hand to her forehead, suddenly dismayed. "Oh gosh, I didn't do _anything_ I was supposed to do this weekend..."

"Such as?"

"Laundry, groceries..."

"Oh, I can take care of that," the Master said, as if this should have been obvious.

"_You're_ going to do my laundry?" Clara laughed. The image was priceless.

"No," he corrected her with a roll of his eyes, "but I can easily find someone who will."

"You're going to get me groceries?" She shook her head. The Doctor had no concept of the needs of daily life. He probably didn't even know what groceries _were_. Or where they came from. But the Master seemed to be totally serious. "Do you need... A list?" she asked uncertainly.

"No, I'll figure it out," he said with a smug expression. "Same things as you bought last week ok?"

"Sure... I think so." She smiled, realizing what his plan was. "You're going to go back to last week and see what I bought, aren't you?"

"Seems like the most logical thing to do," he grinned.

"Oh, yeah... Obviously." Clara's face fell as she realized her time really was up now. "Will you come find me, after the timelines sync up?" she asked. "Maybe I could help..." She saw a shadow cross his face. "With the Plan, I mean," she hastened to clarify.

"I might," he answered noncommittally. "Depends."

He was lying.

"On what?" Clara demanded.

"I don't know yet," he said, looking at her with an odd expression.

"Sounds like you're just looking for an excuse to never see me again," Clara observed.

"I just think maybe we've said everything that needs to be said," the Master told her.

He was choosing his words carefully.

After days of being honest with each other, he was editing himself, holding back, hiding...

And Clara knew she had _far_ more she wanted to say to the Master. And far more she wanted to hear from him.

"Have we?" Clara walked up to him. She looked him right in the eye, challenging, searching. Trying to discern if he truly wanted to leave and never come back.

Was he really just... _Done_?

He didn't look done.

She thought he looked sad.

"Do I get to have an opinion about that?" Clara asked him.

He didn't answer.

Clara could see that he was balanced on the cusp of making a decision. That he was pausing, taking refuge in the moment before an action which couldn't be taken back.

The seconds ticked forward and Clara could feel them dragging him away.

Clara didn't wait to see what he would decide.

She acted for him.

Clara stood up on the toes of her shoes and kissed him, quickly, right on the mouth.

The Master looked down at her, blinking in genuine shock. Then he snorted a laugh.

"'Kay, not the response I was expecting," Clara grinned.

He was smiling back at her in frank disbelief. "_Really_?" he said.

"You can't be _that_ surprised." Clara returned. No one could be that blind, could they? Although, there was at least one other person she could think of...

He frowned for a moment, turning away, then squinted back at her. "Really?" he asked again.

"Yes. Really," Clara said. "We just spent the whole week together. We talked for _three days _straight."

"Yeah, but... _Seriously_?" he asked, still apparently baffled.

"Yes!" Clara laughed, resisting the urge to shove him. "Really, seriously! What is so hard to understand about this?" she asked the Universe in general.

"Even after last night, though?" His face was suddenly vulnerable, open. "I thought you'd still be upset about that."

"I am, but..." She shrugged helplessly. Some things just defied explanation. "Hey, you're not the only one who gets to be complicated."

He grimaced awkwardly, looking like he wanted to run. "You should know that I'm not exactly... Great at this stuff."

"I know," Clara responded. That was hardly news to her. "I'm not expecting anything," she assured him.

"Hmm..." He was calculating, running scenarios.

Clara decided to put a stop to that before it went too far.

"So... Let's try this again." She reached up and put a hand to his cheek. He seemed surprised but didn't pull away. "Come and find me later..." She kissed him again, gently. "Please?" she whispered.

He looked at her, thoroughly in the moment for once, eyes serious. "Alright..." It was like he decided as he was speaking the words. "I will."

"Promise?" Clara asked, afraid to let him go. Afraid he'd change his mind as soon as she lost sight of him.

He had an idea. "Tell you what... You hold onto something for me, so you'll know that I'm coming back."

He reached into his pocket, held up the little plastic soldier. He took Clara's hand and closed her fingers gently around the ancient toy.

"You'd trust me with this?" Clara marvelled, awed by the gesture.

"You're just borrowing it," he told her. He reached up as if to brush the hair away from her face. Instead, his fingers connected briefly with her temple. She felt something happen in her mind, an instruction, a stable, permanent priority. "Don't lose it, alright?" he said aloud.

She laughed, finding the complexity of the situation funny despite herself. "Promise," she joked, as if she had a choice. She frowned. "So is that it then, is this where I forget?"

"You'll forget as soon as I leave," he said. He was looking at her intently, like he was trying to memorize her face.

"And when will I remember?" she asked him. None of this would matter in a few minutes but she had to know.

"When you see me again," he smiled distantly, looking through her, not _at _her. Like he was seeing the future. Or the past.

"Ok..." Clara said, backing away and taking a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"For?" the Master asked, surprised.

"Do the thing," she gestured at her head. "Hypnotize me, make me forget." She screwed her eyes shut, bracing herself.

She opened her eyes as he tapped her on the nose. He was laughing at her.

"Already done," he informed her.

"What?" she frowned. "When?"

"A few days ago," he said. "You really thought I was just going to hypnotize you out here on the street? It does take a minute, you know. And a certain level of concentration."

"Well, I don't know!" she laughed. She thought back, trying to place a gap, to find a moment or a memory that didn't fit... Nothing. "I don't remember that at all."

"No, you won't," the Master said, shaking his head. "That's part of the deal."

She put a hand to her head. "So I've just been walking around with your programming in my brain, waiting to forget as soon as you leave?"

"Still want to see me again?" he asked quietly. His face was controlled, but there was a fear in his eyes.

She smiled at him and rolled her eyes. "_Yes_," she said firmly. She folded her arms, considering the tangled mess of a man in front of her. "It must be _weird_ to be you," she realized.

He gave her the smallest, most honest smile she'd seen since she'd met him. "It is, sometimes."

She stepped closer again, took his hand in hers. After a moment, he gripped it tight. "Thank you for... Everything. And thanks for trusting me."

"Thank you for listening," he countered. "And for taking care of the Doctor. I know what a handful he can be," he grinned.

Clara had to laugh to herself. The Doctor wasn't the only one who was a handful. She looked the Master right in the eye. "Yeah, but... He's worth it, though," she said to him.

He missed her meaning completely, lost in his own little Doctor world. "He is, yes."

She was definitely going to be late for work now. She wouldn't even know why, which was slightly hilarious. "Well, I'd say I'll miss you but..." she shrugged humorously. "Goodbye," she said then.

Impulsively, she hugged him. He stiffened defensively.

"You ok?" she said, taken aback by his reaction.

"You're not going to stab me, are you?" he asked.

She pulled back, looking at him in bafflement. "_What_?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "I'll tell you later..." he promised. "See you soon, Clara Oswald."

"See you later, Master." She stepped back, arms and legs crossed, wishing she could keep him a little longer, wishing he didn't have to leave. He opened the door to his TARDIS and stepped inside. Then he turned back, looking like he was going to ask another question.

"Go!" Clara laughed, shaking her head. Because if he didn't leave now he never would.

And they both knew the timeline had to move forward.

The Master understood. He smiled and closed the door behind him.

The Master's TARDIS dematerialized.

Clara blinked at the empty space in front of her.

She slipped the toy soldier she was holding into her purse, absently, automatically.

She went to work.

She was running late but weirdly hit every green light.

She arrived right on time.

All the teachers were talking about the official commendation the school had been given in the wake of the survey last week.

Clara was thrilled and proud.

But whenever anyone talked about the Inspector, she didn't have much to say...

After all, they'd barely even met.


	14. Chapter 14: Christmas Eve

_Chapter 14: Christmas Eve_

The Master carefully zapped the kantrofarri off of the Doctor's face.

He'd put it there in the first place, of course, but it had been about ninety seconds and it was time to wake up.

He ducked behind the TARDIS as the Doctor gasped for air and the dream crab disintegrated into a pile of dirty ash and obsidian shell.

"Clara…" the Doctor said and the Master could hear the smile in his voice as he said it.

The Doctor, predictably, ran straight into the TARDIS, all twitchy excitement and eager urgency.

The Master waited a few moments for the TARDIS to dematerialize and then stepped into his own TARDIS, following the Doctor...

Back to Clara.

The Master didn't really _need_ to be there when Clara woke up… The Doctor would take care of her now. And Clara had gotten the initial dream crab, the special one, the one that had been surgically implanted with a scanning device so the Master could keep track of Clara and the Doctor simultaneously while they interacted from lightyears apart.

He had also used it to get a sense of how things were going inside their shared dream state.

He would have preferred to join them himself, of course… And the thought of using the kantrofarri dream scenario to disguise himself was extraordinarily tempting…

But someone had to monitor the situation from the outside, just in case something went wrong.

Because he had played some dangerous games with the Doctor's life before but this one was definitely up there in terms of how rapidly irreversible damage could occur.

Oddly, the Doctor and the random group of humans he was trying to save along with Clara had conjured up their own deus ex machina character in the form of Santa Claus.

But a weirdly sarcastic Santa… One who was an expert on alien life and competed and argued with the Doctor.

The Master wasn't sure if some part of the Doctor's brain had figured out that this was his plan or if he just felt more comfortable with someone to interact with in that specific format.

Either way, the Doctor concocting an ally to challenge and undermine him was so very Doctor… And it was nice to feel appreciated.

He filed that information away, hoping there would be some way to tease the Doctor about it later.

He'd worried about Clara a bit.

He'd ambushed her as she was getting ready to turn in for the night and had carefully laid her down in bed and tucked her in... As safe and sound as it was possible to be with a telepathic parasite feasting on your brain.

Judging from the readings, Clara had been more shocked to see the Doctor than she had been to see Santa and his elves.

And she had been so reluctant to wake up, clearly afraid that this was the last she would ever see of the Doctor...

The Master wanted to see her face when she realized how wrong she had been.

Because real life was stranger and more wonderful than any dream and Clara would smile so brightly when she learned that all over again.

And really, half the fun of gift-giving was being there when the recipients opened their presents.

Initially, of course, this was supposed to be a Christmas present for the Doctor alone. But now…

Now things were different.

Now Clara deserved a Christmas present, too.

Luckily, that was easy. Because the Doctor being happy would make Clara happy, and vice versa.

And the Master's present?

Just being there to see it.

So he flew his TARDIS back to Clara's bedroom, timing it to arrive just before the Doctor.

The Doctor's TARDIS very obligingly materialized outside. Not an accident, obviously. Nothing the TARDIS did was ever an accident.

He camouflaged his TARDIS as the floor-to-ceiling curtain half-drawn over Clara's window.

Risky, perhaps. But the Doctor and Clara would both be distracted. And knowing the two of them, they wouldn't be wasting much time before running back to the TARDIS.

They wouldn't sit still long enough to notice her draperies had started humming.

The Doctor ran in, taking the stairs two at a time, leaving the front door wide open behind him.

He zapped the dream crab off of Clara's face.

She sat up, urgently asking if she was still young.

The Doctor, ludicrously, responded with, "No idea."

The look on Clara's face was priceless. She seemed torn between whether to laugh, cry, or sigh in disgust.

Which was absolutely the correct attitude towards the Doctor in general.

The Doctor grabbed a mirror for Clara and she checked her own reflection, understandably pleased by what she found.

And then the Doctor got very still, which was highly unusual.

Hands clasped, sincerely, desperately, he pleaded with her to come with him. Inviting her properly because she truly was that important.

And Clara laughed like every wish she'd ever made had just come true and she couldn't even believe it.

She grabbed the Doctor's outstretched hand and kissed him on the cheek, eyes sparkling.

And they both ran off into the snow, in such a hurry to see something new, not even knowing or caring what it might be.

No plans, no safety nets. Racing into danger side by side with reckless abandon.

It was a happy ending if you stopped the story here on Christmas Eve...

A tragedy if you ended with Clara's death on the Trap Street...

But that wasn't the end of Clara's story, nor the Doctor's.

Testimony would take care of the Doctor's future.

And Clara's…

Who could say?

The Master had no information about what happened to Clara after Gallifrey and the extraction chamber.

He'd find out himself, in person.

He'd be a part of it.

It was stupid and foolish. A bad idea, an ineffably terrible plan. A course of action which couldn't possibly end well for anyone involved.

Because there was no scenario he could imagine in which Clara wouldn't realize what a horrible mistake she'd made by asking him to come back for her.

No combination of circumstances which didn't lead to him ruining her virtually-endless life…

Getting romantically involved with Clara Oswald was easily the worst decision he'd ever made.

He was sure of it.

But with the image of Clara's smiling eyes hovering in his memory and her kiss still on his lips… He simply didn't care.

He stepped up to the window, just out of sight, snatching one last glimpse of the duo as they departed.

"Well, look at you, all happy," Clara voice came from outside. "That's rare."

It was. It had taken this Doctor a lot of work to get his priorities straight, a long time to remember how to be happy.

So much of that was due to Clara.

"Do you know what's rarer?" the Doctor responded. "Second chances."

The Master chuckled.

"I never get a second chance, so what happened this time?" the Doctor said, half-heartedly looking around behind him as the Master watched from Clara's window up above. "Don't even know who to thank."

The Master glanced at the tangerine he'd left on Clara's windowsill earlier.

He thought about another Doctor on another Christmas who had declared, "_No second chances."_

How he had executed a treacherous enemy using a similar tangerine.

But that Doctor had been _wrong_.

Wrong and lost and alone.

Everyone needed second chances… Even the Doctor.

"Anytime, Doctor," the Master said quietly.

And as the Doctor and Clara set off into the Universe towards her eventual death, the Master stepped back into his TARDIS to find out what happened next in her story...

And in his own.


	15. Chapter 15: The Far Future - A Tuesday

Alright guys, last chapter! It's been fun! :)

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_Chapter 15: The Far Future - A Tuesday_

Clara pressed herself against the wall, gun held tight… Listening, waiting until the coast was clear.

The enemy aliens moved on past her, oblivious to her presence.

It was so much easier to remain undetected when you had no heartbeat and didn't need to breathe...

Clara hadn't expected being permanently frozen in the moment before her death would have so many perks. There were downsides, of course. She still wasn't entirely certain about what would happen if she died in her current state... To her or to the Universe.

She preferred not to find out.

Clara broke from cover, doubling back the way she had come from. She didn't really have a plan at the moment. Long-term, she was hoping to stabilize the colonists' situation and then find a way off the planet.

From there...

Well, it was a big Universe.

And she had nothing but time.

When she heard the familiar groaning sound, she thought at first that it must be the wind, whistling through the twisted rock formations all around her...

But it got louder. And she _knew._

_He couldn't be here... How could he be here?_

But when the box-shaped timeship appeared, it didn't look the way she had expected.

A man stepped out. Also not what she had expected.

"Hello, Clara," the man said.

She blinked at him, once, slowly...

Then she smiled.

"Master," she greeted him. "You took your time," she added with just a touch of reproach in her tone.

"You were surprisingly difficult to find," he told her ruefully.

"Well, I didn't exactly know you were looking for me, did I?" she pointed out.

"Yeah... Probably should have arranged for a signal or something," he said with a shrug. "Hindsight."

She looked him up and down. He was exactly the same, even wearing the same clothes. But knowing the Doctor, that didn't mean much... "So, how long has it been, for you?" she asked.

"Couple of days," he said. He was smiling, hadn't stopped smiling since he had stepped out of his TARDIS. "I just came from getting you and the Doctor back together. You?"

Clara laughed. Even with all of her experience, time travel could still be difficult to process sometimes. "Oh... Years. It's... Hard to keep track, actually," she said.

"I know, right?" the Master agreed. "Where's your friend?" he asked, seeing she was alone.

"Ashildr?" Clara shook her head, shrugging. "Yeah, she sort of left me stranded a while back."

"Hmm," the Master said. Clara could see him filing that away for judgment. She'd address that situation later. "So what have you been up to?" the Master asked, staring pointedly at the state she was in.

Clara looked down at her stained and ragged post-Apocalyptic ensemble. "Oh, you know. Joined a group of resistance fighters." She glanced off to the side, unsure of her own assessment. "Or possibly founded it? It's a fine line."

The Master raised his eyebrows at her. "Will they do alright without you?"

"Probably..." she admitted, smiling despite herself at the game the two of them were playing. "Why do you ask?" she said innocently.

He rolled his eyes at her act. "Come here," he ordered.

"_You_ come here," Clara countered, standing her ground.

The Master looked at her for a moment, considering... And gave in.

He walked up to her slowly, stopping just inches away. Clara didn't back up. She just waited. The Master brushed some stray hair back behind her ear, tenderly. He lifted her chin gently and leaned down to kiss her.

If Clara's heart had been beating, it would have stopped during that kiss.

She blinked up at him, dazed. Somehow out of breath even though she didn't need to breathe anymore. His hands were on her back and neck, supporting her. He'd literally swept her off her feet. And now he was just staring down at her, like she was the answer to some question he hadn't figured out how to ask yet.

"Hi," she giggled.

"Hi," the Master grinned back.

She looked at him searchingly. "Are you sure?"

His face fell. "Did you change your mind?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No! No. I didn't."

"Then yes, I'm sure," he confirmed, smiling again.

He set her back on her feet. She was dizzy and clung to him while she found her balance. She may have held him a bit closer than she really needed to but he didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, I have something for you..." she remembered. She pulled out the toy soldier she'd been carrying around for years now without even realizing.

"Thanks," he said, taking it and slipping it back into his pocket. He gestured towards his TARDIS, taking her hand. "Shall we?"

"You know..." she said, staying rooted in place, pulling him back. "I'd be much more comfortable leaving if my resistance friends were in _slightly_ better shape."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not the Doctor."

"Never thought you were," she assured him. She stepped in close again, putting her hand up behind his neck and smoothing out his collar. "I just thought you might like the chance to blow some stuff up..." she said coyly.

"Hmm," he said skeptically, fully aware of her attempt at manipulation and evidently slightly amused by it. "What is it you're resisting, exactly?"

"Daleks," Clara revealed in a dramatic whisper.

"Daleks..." he repeated. "Really..."

"Interested?" Clara asked, knowing he was.

"It's been... A _while_," he said with a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes. "How many are we talking about?"

"A couple hundred, we think," Clara said. "We've had trouble getting inside the base for an accurate count. Think that's something you might be able to handle?"

He looked down at her confidently. "Child's play," he responded.

"So?" Clara asked, quirking her eyebrows.

"Hmm," he said, considering. "I blow up your Daleks, you come with me to finish the Plan?"

"Sounds fair," Clara agreed.

Nevermind the fact that they both knew she'd be helping with the Plan either way.

"Alright then," he grinned. "Let's go kill some Daleks. This should be _fun_..."

They made their way to the Dalek base and got inside easily. Having a Time Lord who was an expert on Dalek tech made a world of difference.

They snuck through the corridors silently, avoiding the Dalek patrols, making their way to the central control room.

They crouched in an alcove, watching the Daleks rolling around, screaming at each other as Daleks did.

Clara found herself watching the Master instead of the death machines. She could almost see him assessing the competition, planning contingencies. It made her smile.

"It's good to see you," Clara said quietly.

He didn't turn around. "Can we talk about this later? Dalek base."

"I _missed_ you," Clara whispered.

"No, you didn't," he contradicted her flatly with a condescending glance. "You _couldn't_. You didn't even remember that I existed."

"I _did_ miss you," Clara asserted. "I just didn't _know_ that I did."

The Master scoffed, shaking his head at her. "That's not how it works."

"It _could _be," Clara protested. "What? You don't know everything."

He gave her a superior look. "I do happen to know quite a bit about this particular topic."

"So..." Clara continued after a couple moments of silence. "You didn't forget. Did _you_ miss _me_?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye without turning around. "It's only been a couple of days since I saw you last," he reminded her.

"And?" Clara pressed.

"Maybe," he admitted with a hint of a smile. "A little."

"Good," Clara said, satisfied. "Because I'm _amazing_."

The Master didn't answer but he gave her a strange smile.

Clara grinned back, adrenaline rush kicking in. She wasn't entirely sure how that worked when she was technically not exactly alive but the surge was undeniable. Some of the Daleks had moved out of the control room and there was a lull in the activity. She saw the Master had noticed it as well.

This was their chance.

Clara held her gun up. "Alright. Time to kill some Daleks and go save the Doctor. Ready?"

The Master pulled out his laser screwdriver and flashed a smile at Clara. "Ready."

The Daleks never even knew what hit them.

_The End_

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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. :) :)


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